Take My Hand
by castielthebabyinatrenchcoat
Summary: Dean and Castiel haven't been friends for a long time. It's complicated. But when Castiel ties himself to the tree outside Dean's house as part of a peaceful protest, avoiding him becomes impossible. And so does ignoring his true feelings for the boy next door...
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, guys! I've had the idea for this fic for a while now, but I've only recently had the time to actually write it. It's pretty short & sweet, but I hope you enjoy it all the same. As always, all reviews are very much appreciated. Thanks for reading! :) **

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Castiel is still in the tree. He's been there for three days now, perched on the thickest branch of the old oak with his back strapped against the trunk. Dean can see him from the kitchen window above the sink. It's getting dark, but the shadow of Castiel's legs gently swinging below the branch isn't hard to miss.

He stops washing the dishes for a moment and watches him. Castiel has always been a bit weird, even when they were kids, but tying yourself to a tree is a whole new level of psycho. He's literally risking his life for a hunk of old wood. Sam and mom keep calling him 'heroic' and 'brave' and shit like that, but Dean just thinks he's an idiot.

"It's not gonna work," he mutters, not really intending for anyone to hear him. "They're gonna tear it down, no matter what he does. Why the hell's he even bothering?"

His mom gives him a hard look over her shoulder. She's standing by the stove, whisking the lumps out of a pan of hot chocolate. "He's fighting for something he's passionate about, Dean. If no one bothered to stand up for the impossible, the world would never evolve."

"It's just a stinking tree, mom. He's not doing the world any favours." He scrubs a dirty plate harder than necessary, sending muddy water sloshing over the sides of the sink. "The Novaks are just a bunch of self-righteous hippies. They think baking bread and raising chickens is gonna save the planet or something. They're so fucking irritating."

"Stop using that word, mister." His mom moves the pan off the heat and wipes her hands on the front of her jeans. Dean watches her pour the silky mixture into a mug, his nose twitching as the smell of cocoa quickly fills the small room. "As I recall, you and Castiel used to be good friends. You never left each other's sides. Do you remember how you used to make up stories for him? He thought the world of you, Dean." She pauses, her eyes turning sad. "Whatever happened between you two?"

Dean cringes. He doesn't like to think too much about Castiel, or what happened that summer almost four years ago. It makes him feel icky and wrong. Walking away from a friend is one of the shittiest things a person can do, but cutting Castiel out of his life was the only way he could get rid of those… _feelings_.

Plus, being friends with a Novak would completely destroy his reputation.

"It was nothing," he says, yanking the plug free from the sink. Grey water spirals down the plug hole, disappearing with a final burp of murky bubbles. "We were just kids. It didn't matter how different we were back then."

His mom looks like she wants to say something else, but doesn't. He's grateful for that. All he wants to do is wash the stink of dishwater off his hands and binge-watch Dr. Sexy M.D. in his bedroom.

Thinking about Castiel always makes him feel weirdly empty – like he's hungry, but has no idea what he's in the mood for. Insulting him is easier. Maybe that's why he does it so much. It's not like he _means_ to be a complete dick, but just the mere _mention_ of Castiel tends to put him in a bad mood.

"I'm going to bed." He tears his eyes away from Castiel's stupid, shadowy legs and makes a beeline for the stairs.

He doesn't make it.

"Just do me a favour before you go," his mom says in a sickly-sweet tone of voice. He stops at the foot of the stairs, his hand gripping the bannister. A muscle jumps in his jaw. "Take these out to Castiel, will you? He must be freezing out there."

Dean groans. "Aw, c'mon. Why can't Sam to do it?"

"Because, I'm asking _you_ to."

"But, mom –"

"Put your childhood grudges aside for one moment, Dean. Just take him the damn cocoa." She places the mug on a plate and piles half a dozen cookies around it. "There's a good boy."

"You know exactly what you're doing."

She smiles, feigning innocence. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Right." If he weren't concerned about spilling hot chocolate over himself, he'd probably snatch the plate away. Instead, he carefully takes it out of his mom's hands and walks – _not stomps_ – towards the back door. When he steps outside, the cold hits him like a bolt of ice through his chest.

"Fuck," he mumbles, burying his face in the steam of the cocoa to warm his pinkening cheeks.

He can see Castiel's shape slowly taking form as he trudges across the wet grass. A tan trenchcoat flaps into existence, a pair of steely blue eyes blinking from beyond the shadows. When Castiel spots him approaching, Dean feels a familiar churning in his gut, like he's about to throw up. It's not that Castiel is revolting to look at – quite the opposite, actually – but looking into his eyes is like looking into the past, back to the summer that changed his life.

He remembers shoving his best friend to the ground, calling him a freak and a fag and vowing to never speak to him again. All because of some stupid kiss. Maybe he shouldn't have said those things, but the way Castiel made him feel… It terrified him. And sometimes, when you're scared, the easiest thing to do is run away.

"Dean," Castiel says, smiling one of his barely-there smiles. It makes something ancient in his heart flutter to life. "It's a lovely night, isn't it? Did you come out here to look at the stars? There's a wonderful view from up here. You can see the constellations."

Dean rolls his eyes. "Oh, yeah. I love to watch those tiny balls of gas floating about in the sky. It really gets my juices flowing."

"They're not 'tiny', by any means, Dean. They're just hundreds of lightyears away. There's a difference."

"Right." He grits his teeth. If there's one thing Novaks are good at, it's making you feel stupid. "I didn't come out here to chat, unfortunately. Just came to drop off some stuff." He waves the plate in the air, catching a falling cookie in the process. "My mom thought you might be thirsty. And cold. And, uh, hungry, I guess. You want?"

Castiel leans over the branch, straining against the ropes keeping him in place. "It smells delicious. Please, tell your mom I said thank you."

"Uh, sure. You wanna come down and get 'em, or…?"

"I can't leave the tree," Castiel says, like it's against his religion or something ridiculous. "If I reach down, could you pass them to me?"

Dean rubs the back of neck, wary of being too nice to the other boy. Now and again, Castiel will try and strike up a conversation with him, as if he can't remember any of the crappy things Dean said to him all those years ago. He always puts on a front – tells him to fuck off, or ignores him completely – but deep down, it makes him feel like shit. Castiel shouldn't be so nice to him, not after the way things ended between them. But being unconditionally kind to assholes is another galling trait of the Novak clan, and one that _really_ pisses Dean off.

"Fine," he says, trying to inject as much venom into the word as possible. He climbs onto the thick roots at the base of the tree and reaches the plate above his head. Castiel takes it with a smile.

"Thank you, Dean."

"Whatever." He hovers awkwardly beneath Castiel's legs, then says, "I can't believe you're living in a fucking _tree_ , man. It's so weird."

Castiel shrugs. "It's only temporary. I'm taking a stand."

"Against what? Tree mutilation?"

"Exactly."

"I was being sarcastic."

"I know." He crunches the edge of a cookie between his teeth, a drop of chocolate staining his upper lip. Dean clenches his fists to keep himself from reaching out and wiping it off. "But that doesn't change the fact that they _are_ going to mutilate this tree. And all to make room for another money-grabbing chain store. It's disgusting."

"It's business, Cas." Dean curses himself for using that nickname, for blurring the lines between friends and acquaintances. "You've just gotta deal with it."

Castiel shakes his head, a slight frowning touching his pale lips. "I don't give up that easily."

"Not like the rest of us lazy mother-fuckers, right?"

"I don't think you're lazy, Dean. Just a little dispassionate."

"My bad."

"It's okay that you don't understand."

Dean scoffs. That's a typical Novak response; if you don't agree with them, you must be ignorant. "Right. I forgot… I'm an idiot hick who doesn't give a crap about nature. No wonder you think you're so much better than me."

"I don't think that, Dean."

"Sure."

"I just wish you weren't so quick to dismiss the unconventional," he says, almost sadly. His eyes have grown inexplicably bluer, and Dean can't stop staring. "The world is such a wonderful place, Dean. If only you have the courage to do what makes you happy, no matter what anyone says."

There's a hidden message in there – something about Dean being too much of a coward to admit to his true feelings… He pretends not to notice. Castiel is back to nibbling on cookies, and the night is quickly growing colder. He shoves his hands into his pockets and jiggles on the spot. He has no idea why he's still standing here, but something about their conversation feels unfinished.

Castiel takes a sip of cocoa, then tilts his head to the side. "You're cold," he says.

"Yeah, no shit."

"You should go back inside."

"Right." He scratches his chin, feeling stunted and confused. As much as he wants to turn around and go back to ignoring Castiel, something seems to be holding him in place. He tries to shake it off, but he can't. He's stuck. "Are you sure you're gonna be okay out here by yourself?"

Castiel looks taken aback by the question. Which, considering Dean hasn't said a nice word to him in almost four years, makes a lot of sense.

"I'll be okay," he says, smiling strangely. "But thank you for your concern."

Dean gulps. He finds himself studying Castiel's face, picking out all the things that used to make his heart race when they were kids: the deep hue of his eyes; the hair that curls around his ears; the slight cleft in his chin; the way his nose scrunches up when he smiles… Castiel has always been pretty, but in the moonlight, he's _stunning_.

"Well, um, alright then."

"Goodnight, Dean." Castiel throws him the last cookie, then adds, "Please remember to tell your mom I said thank you."

"Sure." He doesn't say goodbye; goodbyes are for people who care.

Once he's back in the safety of his own house, he tosses the cookie in the trash and tries to shake the image of Castiel's stupid, gorgeous face out of his head. But it won't budge. He's back in Middle School again, plagued with thoughts of kind eyes and dusty pink lips. It's torture. Everything about their relationship is pure, unbearable torture.

There's a reason he ignores Castiel Novak, and this is it: to avoid feeling like absolute crap. And not because he hates him, or thinks he's a freak… Because he's in _love_ with him, and nothing is worse than being in love with someone you can never have.


	2. Chapter 2

"They're cutting the tree down in five days," Sam says, shoving a dripping spoonful of lucky charms into his mouth. Dean pours himself some coffee and rolls his eyes. He's so fucking sick of everyone obsessing over that stupid tree. "How d'you think Cas is gonna handle it?"

He shrugs. "Why the fuck would I know?"

"Stop with the language."

"Sorry, mom." He flashes her a smile, aiming for something relatively loveable. All it gets him is a stern look.

Sam pokes him in the arm. "You're being weird. Is this about Cas?"

"Oh, God… Find something else to talk about, will you?"

"It's a pretty big deal, Dean."

"Why, exactly?" He throws his half-eaten Pop Tart onto his plate and screws his face into a frown. "Some nobody nerd ties himself to a tree, and suddenly cutting it down is a big deal? No one gave a crap about the tree before Cas got involved. This whole town is so fucking fake."

"Jesus, Dean." His mom turns from the stove and puts her hands on her hips, a tell-tale sign that she's majorly pissed off. "I told you to stop swearing like a sailor. And please, quit trash-talking the neighbours. We don't need that kind of drama."

"They love trash-talk, mom. It gives 'em something to moan about."

She narrows her eyes. "You're in a very argumentative mood today, aren't you? Is something wrong?"

"Nope." He goes back to eating his breakfast, hoping to deflect the conversation. A heavy silence follows. He can feel his mom watching him closely from across the room, her signature 'I'm calling bullshit' frown slowly taking form. But before she gets the chance to start her interrogation, his dad walks into the room.

"Morning, all," he says, reaching for the jug of orange juice in the centre of the table. When no one responds, he adds, "What did I miss?"

"Dean's being an ass again."

"Shut up, Sam."

"They're arguing about the tree," his mom explains calmly. "Dean doesn't believe it's a very noble cause. He thinks the town is only pretending to care because Castiel is taking a stand."

His dad shrugs. "Well, he ain't wrong."

"John –"

"Well, think about it, Mary. It's a small town; people get bored… Stuff like this excites 'em. Doesn't mean they actually care."

"But Castiel _does_ ," his mom shoots back, lifting a challenging eyebrow. Sam and Dean exchange a look; their folks rarely fight in front of them. "I know the neighbours can get carried away, but at least they're taking an interest. They're giving him the publicity he needs to get his message across."

John shakes his head. "He's just a kid, Mary. What d'you think he's gonna do when they tear it down? He's gonna lose that spark of his, that's what'll happen."

Dean deflates. He tries to imagine Castiel without his inane optimism – just another miserable sucker going through the motions of life. It makes him feel sick. He might not understand the other boy's unshakeable faith, but he's always respected it.

Having people like Castiel in the world is weirdly comforting; it's nice to know that not _everyone_ has lost hope, that there are still some people who believe they can make a difference. They might be naïve, but at least they care about something. Dean's never really cared much about _anything_ besides writing, and that's just a pipedream.

Maybe Castiel was right; maybe he _is_ dispassionate…

"I think you underestimate him," his mom says, aggressively sliding three rashers of bacon onto a plate. She cracks a spitting egg into the pan and tosses her hair aside. "Just because he's young, doesn't mean he isn't strong. That boy's gonna go far in life… Just you wait and see."

"I hope you're right." His dad takes a thoughtful sip of orange juice, then turns to Sam. "What're _your_ thoughts, boy?"

Sam shrugs. "I think it's awesome."

"Oh, really?" Dean scoffs. "Go tie yourself to a tree then."

"Why don't you?"

"'cause I don't care."

"Liar." Sam points his spoon at him accusingly, flicking droplets of milk across the table. "I saw you watching Cas from your window the other night. It was kinda creepy."

"Fuck off."

His dad clears his throat. "Language, Dean."

"Christ." He groans, dragging the skin beneath his eyes over his cheeks. _They're so fucking persistent_. "Can we make a new rule? No talking about Cas at the table? No, scrap that. No talking about Cas _at all_."

Sam snickers. "You've got it bad."

Dean throws the Pop Tart at his head.

"Stop it, you two," his mom scolds them gently. She's wearing a smile, but Dean can see her patience quickly waning beneath the surface. "Seeing as you're clearly finished with your breakfast, Dean, you can take a glass of orange juice out to Castiel. Oh, and bring back the dishes from last night while you're at it."

"You've gotta be kidding me."

She smirks. "Everyone else is busy eating. This has nothing to do with your crush on Castiel."

"I don't have a crush!"

Sam bursts out laughing. "Oh my god, Dean! You've gone bright red!"

"Whatever." He scrapes back his chair and grabs a glass from the cabinet, purposely shouldering past Sam on his way across the room. He fills the glass with juice, flicks a scowl across the room, then kicks the back door open.

It's warmer outside this morning. Pale sunlight spills across the lawn, glinting off the beads of dew clinging to the long grass. He can see the tree in plain sight, along with Castiel's dangling legs. There's something moving back and forth amongst the branches, and it takes him a moment to realise that Castiel is waving to him. He ignores the fluttering in his chest and tries to act nonchalant.

"Hey," he greets him curtly. "Brought you some juice."

Castiel beams down at him. "Thank you, Dean. That's very kind of you."

"Well, my mom forced me to, so…"

"I see." His smile doesn't falter. "I appreciate your mother's kindness, but she really doesn't have to keep doing this. My parents visit me three times a day; they always bring food and water with them. I'm really quite alright."

Dean shrugs. "My mom's a worrier, man. You're not gonna shake her off that easily." He balances the glass on one of the lower branches, then says, "I can't imagine my folks letting me do this kinda thing by myself. Why aren't you protesting with your parents?"

"This is my first solo stance," Castiel explains. Something shifts in his expression, his smile thinning into a sneer. "I'm the only person in this entire town who cares about the fate of this tree. It's disgraceful, really. Did you know it's been here for almost 165 years? And now a bunch of pompous, greed-induced businessmen are going to tear it down for a little extra money in their pockets… They have absolutely no respect for nature, or the profound effect it can have on humanity." He takes a breath, a single tear slipping down his cheek. "This tree is very important to me. That's why I'm here, fighting for its life. I don't expect to win, but… I have to try."

Dean nods. He's not sure why, but he does. He has no idea how or why a person can care so much about a tree, but there's no mistaking the grief in Castiel's eyes. This isn't an act; he isn't faking anything. There's an inexplicable bond between him and this hunk of wood – one that ignorant, scornful people like Dean will never understand.

He suddenly feels very small and very stupid.

"That sucks," he says, looking down at his feet. He doesn't feel worthy of meeting Castiel's eyes. "It's good that you're trying though, right? Maybe you'll make a difference."

Castiel's face softens again. "I hope so."

Dean scuffs the moist earth beneath his heel, then lifts his eyes. Castiel is smiling down at him, his eyes gleaming fondly. It's a dangerous look. Dean remembers seeing that same smile on Castiel's face four years ago, right before he leaned in and pressed their lips together. Seeing it again makes him feel like a jerk. He doesn't deserve that smile; he doesn't deserve _Cas_.

"I, uh… I better go." He jabs a thumb over his shoulder. "I've gotta get ready for school. You finished with those dishes from last night?"

"Of course." Castiel hands him the plate and mug, then takes the proffered glass of juice. "I'll drink this now." He throws it back in two gulps, wipes a dribble of juice from his chin, then hands it back to Dean. "Please, tell your mother I said thanks again."

He nods stiffly, trying to ignore the glistening sheen of juice coating Castiel's lips. They look even more kissable when they're wet.

"Sure thing."

"Thank you, Dean." Castiel bows his head, 100% sincere. "I really appreciate you visiting me like this. Even if your mother _did_ force you. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

Dean cringes, feeling like an asshole. "Yeah, no problem. I guess."

"Feel free to come back whenever you like."

"I'll think about it."

"Don't take to too long," Castiel says, forcing a smile. Beneath his thinly-veiled façade, Dean can see how hopeless he really feels. "I may not be here for much longer."

Dean rolls his eyes. "You're not gonna _die_ , Cas."

"I fear a part of me might."

He frowns, silently prompting Castiel to elaborate, but the other boy doesn't say a word. Dean takes that as his cue to leave. He gives Castiel a small, wavering smile, then crosses the road and cuts across the lawn.

Before he goes back inside, he glances over his shoulder. Castiel is leaning against the trunk with his head tipped back, feeling the breeze against his face. There's a contented smile touching his orange-tinted lips. He looks peaceful and happy and _beautiful_ , and Dean finds himself falling in with him love all over again.


	3. Chapter 3

Trying to read when Castiel is sat right outside his window is pretty damn difficult. From his room, he has a perfect view of the tree across the street, and the desk where he usually sits to read is right next to his window. It's a tricky situation.

No matter how hard he tries to focus on the crinkled pages of his battered copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_ , his eyes keep drifting back to Castiel's shadowy form. He considers closing the blinds, but then he'd lose the warm light from the streetlamp outside, and the light in his bedroom is too ugly and harsh for reading in.

"Fuck." He puts his book face down on the desk and looks out the window. He wonders if Castiel can see him staring. He probably can, but Dean doesn't care. It's not _his_ fault that Castiel is so fricking distracting.

He leans forward on his elbows, palms pressed against his cheeks, and watches the other boy sitting in the tree. He's completely cast in shadows beneath the canopy of leaves above his head, but Dean can still see that he's shivering. He has his knees tucked under his chin, and his arms wrapped around his legs; and every time he shudders, the branches around him tremble.

"Such an idiot," he mumbles, getting to his feet and grabbing a blanket from the bottom of his wardrobe. He pauses by his desk, fingers brushing the spine of his book. After a moment's hesitation, he slips it under his jacket and grabs the torch from under his bed.

It's stiffeningly cold outside. The crystallised grass crunches beneath his feet, and his breath puffs out in little clouds that fade into the night. He bundles the torch inside the blanket and hugs it against his chest, trying to shield himself from the bitter breeze flapping against his skin. It doesn't work. His teeth start chattering against his control, and his hands ball up into tight, unclenchable fists. He can't imagine sleeping out here for four nights in a row. But, then again, he can't imagine himself being strong enough to do _any_ of the amazing things that Castiel is capable of.

"Hey. It's me again," he says in a low voice. "I brought you a blanket. And some, uh, reading material."

Castiel pops his head over the edge of the branch. In the darkness, his cobalt-coloured eyes make him look like some kind of mystical creature... There's really no denying how beautiful he is.

"Dean." Castiel smiles, supressing another shiver. "I didn't think I'd see you again so soon."

He rubs the back of his neck. "Yeah, well… I saw you from my window. Not that I was _watching_ you or anything, I just… I-I was reading, and I saw you, and you were shivering, so… I thought I'd bring you a blanket." He swallows thickly, trying to regain his cool. "And then I thought, maybe you were bored, so… I brought you a book as well. It's, uh, one of my favourites."

"You still like to read?"

"Yeah," he says. "I mean, now and again."

By 'now and again', he means every day – whenever he gets a spare moment of privacy. But if anyone knew that about him, they'd think he was a nerd. It would ruin his reputation for sure.

"I'm glad," Castiel says, his words as soft as the blanket in Dean's hands. "Don't give up the things you love, Dean. Even if the world tries to tell you it's wrong. There's nothing more rewarding than finding something you love and fighting for it."

Dean shrugs. "I guess."

He makes it sound so easy – like ignoring all the hate and bigotry is as simple as turning the world on mute – but it's not. Being a bisexual sci-fi nerd with a passion for writing is not 'hot' or 'cool' or socially acceptable. Which is why he puts on a front: so no one can laugh and point at the real him. And so _what_ if that makes him a coward? He'd rather be a coward than shunned from his family and friends.

"Anyway." He clears his throat. "Take these." He passes the blanket and torch up to Castiel, and immediately starts to shiver. "It's a little scratchy, but it should do just fine."

Castiel rubs the worn material against his cheek and smiles. "It's perfect. Thank you, Dean."

"Yeah, no problem."

"And the book?"

"Oh, right." He pats his hands over his jacket, pretending not to feel the rectangle-shaped lump in his inside pocket. "You know, you don't have to read it if you don't want to. I just thought you might be bored of sitting here, doing nothing… I mean, you might not even _like_ it. It's a pretty acquired taste."

Castiel furrows his brow. "You don't want me to read it?"

"No! It's not _that_ , I just…" He scratches his temple, trying to think of a way to explain himself without sounding completely pretentious. "This book, it's, um… it's really important to me, you know? It's the book that made me wanna be a writer. Back in the day. And the thought of you reading it, and not _liking_ it… I dunno. It kinda scares me."

Castiel's frown melts into a smile. "I understand what you mean."

"You do?"

"I feel the same way about this tree," he says, running his hand along the branch beneath him. "For many years, this spot has been my own, personal sanctuary, and now I have to share it with the world." He sighs. "I fear this town won't be able to see what I see, that they'll eventually grow bored of my protest and turn their backs on what's right. But that's not a justifiable excuse to stop fighting."

Dean shrugs. "I guess you've got it worse."

"It's impossible to compare the passions of two people, Dean. I would never dare to belittle your love for literature."

"Yeah, but… I've been a real dick about the tree."

"I forgive you," Castiel says, and Dean can tell that he means it. "It takes a lot of courage to try and change your outlook on life."

"I _am_ trying, man."

"I know you are, Dean." His heart trips over the sincerity of Castiel's words. "And that's what makes you a wonderful human being."

"That's funny."

"Why do you put yourself down like that?"

Dean scoffs. "You know damn well why I treat myself like shit, Cas. Same way I treat everyone else."

"That's not true."

"I'm an ass and you know it."

Castiel presses his lips together, a sharp 'V' etched between his brows. "I don't blame you for what happened all those years ago, Dean. It was _my_ fault for misreading the situation. I let my feelings get in between us, and that was selfish of me. For that, I apologise."

"Please, don't… The last thing I need is you saying sorry."

"But I am," he says. "Kissing you was the biggest mistake of my life. Not because I didn't enjoy it, but because it ruined our friendship… And your friendship was more important to me than you'll ever know."

"Trust me, Cas. I get it."

"I just wish things could be different."

"Yeah. Me too."

They're both quiet for a moment, silently soaking in the memories of a friendship they can never get back. Even if they tried to make things work, it would never be the same. And anyway, Dean is too much of a coward to let Castiel back into his life.

He knows what people would say if they saw them together. He's seen the way the kids at school treat Castiel. And he hates himself for not stepping in and defending him, but that's just the way it is. Castiel is the hero, and Dean is the gutless jerk who will never amount to anything. They're not _supposed_ to be together... Why the hell can Castiel not see that?

"Here. You can have it." He takes the book out of his pocket and drums his fingers against the front cover. It's an old, hardback edition with the full title on the cover. He found it in a used bookstore a few months after he and Castiel stopped being friends. He read it for the first time in one night, and it's been his favourite book ever since. For some reason, delving into the kooky mind of Billy Pilgrim has always been a great comfort to him. It makes him feel less screwed up himself.

He flicks through the browning pages one last time, then hands it over. "Just be careful with it, alright? Don't drop it in the mud or anything. And ignore all the crap scribbled in the margins. It was, uh… it was there when I bought it. Used book, you know?"

Castiel narrows his eyes suspiciously. "It was there when you bought it?" He turns to a random page, running his fingers over the slanted writing bordering the text. "It looks a lot like _your_ handwriting."

"How the hell can you remember what my handwriting looks like?"

"I have a photographic memory." His eyes sparkle knowingly. "Don't worry, Dean. I'll try to ignore your notes."

"They're not very good."

"Okay."

He chews the inside of his cheek. "I mean, I tend to ramble a lot, so it's probably a load-a bullshit."

"I very much doubt that, but I respect your privacy. If you don't want me to read your notes, I won't. Just tell me now."

"I, uh… I don't mind." He licks his lips and shrugs. The very thought of Castiel reading his crappy interpretations of one of the greatest novels ever written makes him feel tiny and insecure, but he can't let Castiel know how much his opinion means to him. "Just, uh… keep in mind that I've been writing those notes for almost four years, so a lot of it's freshmen babble. I was a pretty stupid kid."

Castiel chuckles. "You were never stupid, Dean. I've always envied your imagination."

"Yeah, right." _There's no way someone like Castiel would ever be envious of an ignorant dickbag with a C-grade average._ "You can keep it for as long as you want, until you've finished it. Just, um, keep it safe."

"I'll guard it with my life."

He snorts. "No need for the dramatics, dude."

"I just want to reassure you that no harm will come to his book while it's in my possession." Castiel traces the arched letters on the front cover, then holds the book against his chest. "I feel very honoured to have your trust, Dean. It really means a lot to me."

"Yeah, yeah… Don't get carried away."

When their eyes meet, they both smile. It feels like they've made progress, came to a mutual understanding. If Castiel can make an effort to respect and understand Dean's passions, then the least he can do is show him the same courtesy.

"Goodnight, Cas." He pats the trunk of the tree – a respectful gesture – then nods his head. "Enjoy the book."

Castiel grins (and holy _crap_ , is it beautiful). "Thank you, Dean. I'm sure I will."

"I'll see you around."

"I hope so."

Later that night, Dean falls asleep watching the glint of torchlight twinkling outside his window. He imagines Castiel bundled up in his blanket, reading his favourite book and actually _enjoying_ it, and it makes him feel dizzy with joy.

And even though it's a joy he doesn't deserve, at least it helps him get a good night's sleep.


	4. Chapter 4

The next morning, he visits Castiel again. He doesn't have an excuse this time – no special deliveries from his mom; no blanket to keep him from freezing to death – other than wanting to see him. That's his only excuse. His self-control has officially crumbled, and all he wants to do is spend every waking moment in Castiel's company. He knows he's dangerously close to falling too far, but he doesn't care. He _needs_ his fix.

"Good morning, Dean." Castiel smiles down at him with bleary, sleep-laden eyes. His voice is thick with fatigue.

Dean grins. "Did you stay up all night reading?"

"Maybe…"

"Cas, you idiot. You've gotta keep up your strength. What if the councilmen come while you're snoozing, huh? They'll haul your ass outta here without you even realising."

"I didn't think you cared about the tree?"

"I'm tryna keep an open mind."

"Oh, yes. I remember."

"Speaking of open minds." He waves a hand at Castiel, motioning towards the book in his lap. "What did you think? Did you, um, _like_ it?"

Castiel blinks himself awake, his eyes growing bright. "It was a fascinating read, Dean. And your notes were a very welcome addition. I particularly enjoyed your argument that free will and predestination are not mutually exclusive."

"I didn't come up with that theory, man. I stole it from some famous philosopher."

"But you presented your own personal take on the matter. I could hear your voice in those notes, Dean. You may have gained inspiration from someone else, but that doesn't make your own interpretation any less profound."

Dean blushes. "I wouldn't call it _profound_ …"

"You underestimate yourself."

"I'm nothing special."

"Damn it, Dean." Castiel scowls (and, _yeah_ , Dean's pants suddenly feel a _lot_ tighter). "Why can't you give yourself credit for once? I know you worry what people might think about you, but you can't keep pretending to be someone you're not." He stabs the cover of the book with his finger. "These notes prove how intelligent and insightful you really are, Dean. Why do you insist on hiding that away? Do you honestly think that people will judge you for using your mind?"

Dean shrugs. "I dunno… Maybe? Probably, yeah. Not that it's any of your fucking business, man. We haven't been friends for years."

"I never stopped caring about you, Dean."

"Well, that's _your_ problem."

"I don't wish to argue with you." Castiel takes a deep breath through his nostrils, then sighs. "I apologise for over-stepping. I only wish you could see yourself the way I see you… The way I've _always_ seen you."

Dean rubs his chin and looks away. He can't bear to look Castiel in the eye when he's saying sappy shit like that; it just hurts too bad. And knowing he stills feels the same way he did when they were kids is a terrifying revelation he's not quite ready to face just yet. It was bad enough thinking he'd thrown away his only chance with Castiel, but knowing he could still have him if he had the guts to confess his feelings? That's a whole new level of fucked up.

"Look, Cas, I –" The words get stuck in the back of his throat. He digs his nails into his palms and starts again. "I'm sorry for all the stuff that happened between us, alright? I was a huge dick to you, I know that. But just 'cause I'm sorry, doesn't mean we can be friends again."

"Why not?"

"C'mon, man… You know why."

"I said I was sorry for kissing you. I promise, it won't happen again."

Dean shakes his head. "It ain't that simple, Cas."

"It _could_ be."

"I don't think so." He kicks a pebble beneath his shoe and keeps his head down, avoiding Castiel's searching gaze. "We both know what happened that day, man… You weren't the only one who enjoyed it while it lasted."

Castiel is silent – probably stunned. Before now, Dean has never admitted to kissing him back when they were kids. He's only ever taken responsibility for shoving Castiel to the ground and calling him a fag.

"Let's just forget about it," he suggests. "This conversation, I mean. I don't wanna think about all that stuff. And if you want me to keep visiting you, you've gotta quit tryna analyse me, okay? I can't be your friend, Cas, but I can do _this_. Just as long as you don't push it."

"You mean, you're going to come and see me again?"

"I guess I miss our weird-ass conversations," he says, smirking. "But no being friends again, alright? This isn't gonna last. As soon as that tree's gone, and you stop camping outside my window, we're done. Capiche?"

Castiel doesn't seem too sold on the idea, but after a moment of thought, he says, "Yes, I capiche."

"Great." He slaps a smile onto his face before his disappointment can show through. And then, because Castiel is still looking at him despondently, he says, "I know you're tryna help, Cas, but it's easier this way. I _like_ playing a certain role. It's simple, you know? _Predictable_. I just don't see the point in putting myself in the limelight for no reason."

"But I prefer the realDean Winchester," Castiel says, his words barely above a whisper. "He's much kinder than this façade of yours."

Dean shrugs. "Yeah, well… You're the only one, pal."

"You just assume that."

"Look, we're not having this conversation, okay?" He slices his hand through the air, drawing an invisible line between them. "I'm just a neighbour lending a helping hand, alright? You want food, clothes, blankets – I'm there. But if you wanna make me feel guilty for taking the easy road, then that's it. I'm gone. You get what I'm saying?"

Castiel frowns. "If you're so opposed to being my friend, then why are you even helping me?"

"'cause you're under my skin!" he growls, a shameful flush crawling up his neck. "I can't just sit by and watch you do this alone, alright? And maybe this'll help me feel better for ditching you in High School, who knows…"

"I told you, Dean. I _forgive_ you."

"Yeah, but I don't."

"So" – Castiel shifts his eyes to the dappled shadows on his hands – "you're only doing this to redeem yourself? You have no other intentions?"

Dean clenches his jaw. "Nope. Nothing at all."

"I see."

"Good, 'cause nothing's gonna happen."

"Of course."

Dean huffs. He's frustrated with himself and Castiel and the whole fucking world. "Great. I'm glad we understand each other."

"I'm just glad you're here."

"Right." He licks his lips, his heart stuttering. "Okay, um… Yeah. Okay. I've gotta go now."

"Don't you want your book back?"

"Oh, yeah." He grabs _Slaughterhouse-Five_ out of Castiel's hand and tucks it inside his jacket. "Thanks."

When he turns to leave, Castiel suddenly says, "Do you remember the stories you used to make up when we were little? We'd hide in the bushes in your backyard, and you'd read to me from your mind." He smiles. "I still keep those stories in my heart, Dean."

For a split second, he considers turning around and taking the bait. But he doesn't. Instead, he scrunches his eyes closed, letting the flames in his chest die down, and says, "No, Cas. I don't remember."

And then he walks away.


	5. Chapter 5

"I saw Chuck at the Gas-N-Sip this afternoon," his mom says as they're sitting at the dinner table the next day, wrestling over a sizzling bowl of fajita mix. "The council contacted him this morning. Apparently, they're proceeding with their plans to cut down the tree the day after tomorrow."

Dean stops mid-chew, a lump of chicken tearing through his tortilla. "The day after tomorrow? They're not even gonna _delay_ it?"

"That's what he said."

"So, Cas has done all of this for nothing?"

Mary shrugs. "Not necessarily, Dean. Maybe this will open people's minds for the future. Perhaps, if a similar situation ever arises, Castiel will have more support."

"But it's _this_ tree that matters," Dean exclaims. "I mean, I don't fucking get it, but Cas has this weird, freaky bond with it. They can't just tear it down like that." He throws his fajita onto his plate and rakes a hand through his hair. "Cas is gonna go nuts."

Sam snorts. "I thought you didn't care?"

"Can it, boy." John bumps his shoulder against Dean's in a 'manly' gesture of affection. "It was always gonna end this way, son. Everyone knew it. The kid probably did too."

"You said he was gonna lose his _spark_."

"Maybe I was wrong."

"But what if you weren't?" He pinches the bridge of his nose, his nails leaving twin crescent marks on either side of his face. "This is so unfair. They're gonna crush his spirit – and for what? A couple-a shops? A new bus stop? A fucking _fountain_? What the hell's the point?"

Mary frowns. "You've changed your tune."

"Just 'cause I don't get the big deal about the tree, doesn't mean I don't believe it." He pokes at the sunken tortilla on his plate and sighs. "Cas really loves that tree, mom."

"I know, sweetie."

"It just… it sucks, you know?"

Her hand finds his arm across the table. She squeezes it, and Dean feels his bottom lip start to wobble. "Yeah, it does. But at least Castiel was able to change at least _one_ person's perspective." She strokes his chin with the pad of her thumb, then slowly lifts his head. "Three days ago, you called Castiel a self-righteous hippy for protecting that tree, and now you're fighting in his corner. Don't you realise how powerful that is?"

"But I still don't _get_ it." He jerks his chin out of her grip, and a pathetic sound – half whimper, half growl – tears out of his throat. "How the hell am I supposed to understand it, mom?"

"Maybe you should ask him," she says, smiling. "That seems like a good place to start."

He shrugs. "Well, I _have_. Sort've. I mean, he gets all weird about it, you know? Like it's personal or something." He skewers a piece of chicken with the crunchy edge of his tortilla, wincing when a bead of fajita mix dribbles down his finger. "He won't tell me, even if I ask. I was kind of a dick to him last night…"

"I'm sure it's nothing a sincere apology won't fix."

"Yeah, 'cause words solve everything."

"It's worth a try." She lifts an eyebrow, daring him to argue. "I know you boys are different, but that doesn't mean you can't be friends – or find a common ground, at least."

He thinks back to his conversation with Castiel last night – how he promised nothing would happen between them, and the way the other boy's face had dropped at the declaration – and wonders if he even _deserves_ to be forgiven for all the shitty things he's said and done to him in the past. Probably not. And even though Castiel seemed relatively okay with the arrangement, Dean sure as hell wouldn't blame the guy for changing his mind and turning him away. It would definitely be a reasonable thing to do.

"I think he wants to be my friend again," Dean says, not missing the way his mom's eyes light up at the idea. "But I told him it was never gonna happen. It would be too weird, you know? We've changed too much."

"And that's a bad thing?"

"Well, _yeah_." He shrinks back in his chair, suddenly hyper-aware of the three sets of eyes watching him around the table. "Cas is like a fricking teenage _Ghandi_ , and I'm just…" He scrabbles for the least self-pitying way to describe himself. "I mean, do I need to spell it out?"

Sam rolls his eyes. "You're not _that_ bad, Dean."

"Gee. Thanks."

"I think your brother's trying to be nice," his mom says softly. "And he's right. You're not a bad person, Dean. Not by a long shot. The fact that you obviously feel inclined to make up for whatever happened between you and Castiel in the past _proves_ that." She pats the back of his hand. Her skin is warm and soft, and Dean wishes he was still young enough to hug his mom without looking like a moron. "Go talk to him, Dean. Hear what he has to say."

"But I told him –"

"It doesn't matter what you said; it matters what you _do_."

Dean scoffs. "You been reading those spiritual magazines again, mom?"

"Stop sassing me and do what I say." She shoves his smirking face away, then nods at the window above the kitchen sink. "In two days' time, that tree will be gone, and you'll never be able to understand why Castiel cared about it so much… not unless you ask him now, while he still has a chance to show you."

"What if I'm too stupid to understand?"

"There's only one way to find out."

Dean looks down at his hands, then his plate, then the window, then back at his mom's face. He knows she's right, but that doesn't make it any less terrifying. He's walking a very thin tightrope with Castiel; it wouldn't take much to push him over the edge and break the bullshit promise he made last night. He just wishes he were brave enough not to give a fuck about the consequences.

"Okay." He slaps the table and gets to his feet, shaking out his arms and sucking in a deep breath. "I'll go ask him then."

Sam sniggers. "Ask him _out_ , or…?"

"Ha-ha."

"Seriously, though." He punches Dean lightly on the arm. "Good luck with Cas. I'm sure you'll be fine."

Dean ruffles his brother's hair with a snort. "Thanks, Sammy."

After he's dumped his soggy fajita on the leftovers plate, he grabs his jacket and slips outside. The sun set less than an hour ago, but the sky is already a deep, inky black. He looks up at the stars – a billion bulbs freckling the night's dark complexion – and tries to imagine the wonderful things Castiel can see through his own eyes. Dean might be a writer, but pretty words can only describe a certain sight so well. Castiel could probably map out every square inch of the universe without fault.

"Dean? Is that you?"

"Uh, yeah!" He shoves his hands in his pockets and jogs across the lawn, not even bothering to check for traffic before crossing the road. Being around Castiel always turns him into a bit of an idiot. "I, uh, thought you might like some company. It's cold out, huh?"

Castiel smiles, his cheeks rosy. "It is. I'm very grateful for the blanket you gave me."

"I can get you another one, if you want...?"

"No, I'm quite alright." He pulls the tatty blanket over his shoulders and draws his knees closer. "But thank you for the kind offer."

"Yeah, no problem."

"Did you come to see me for any particular reason?"

"I guess so. I mean, _yeah_. I just, uh… I wanted to say I'm sorry, for being such a dick last night." He finds a piece of lint in his pocket and starts rolling it between his fingers – anything to avoid the curious look on Castiel's unfairly gorgeous face. "I shouldn't've said that stuff to you, Cas. I _do_ wanna be your friend, I just… You know me; I'm a fucking sheep. I care so much about what other people think… It's dumb, I know." He kicks the overlapping roots of the tree, forgetting who he's talking to, then winces. "Fuck, sorry. Sorry, tree."

Castiel chuckles. "It's not dumb, Dean. You're not the only person who cares what people think about you."

"You don't."

"Of course I do." Castiel wrinkles his nose, frowning. "Just because I don't show it, doesn't mean I don't care." He rubs his chin against the frayed edge of the blanket and sinks back against the trunk of the tree. "I'm not an emotionless robot, Dean. I _do_ care."

Dean grimaces. "Shit, Cas. I didn't mean it like that."

"I know you didn't. But that's what people generally think of me."

"Well, I don't."

"Really?"

"Hell, no!" Dean shakes his head. "I think you're awesome."

Castiel grins. "You do?"

"Well, um… _Yeah_. I mean, you've _always_ been awesome," he says awkwardly, his face prickling with heat. "You're different, you know? But, like, a _good_ different. A _really_ good different."

Castiel blushes, and it makes his heart glitch for a brief moment. "Thank you, Dean."

"Hey, I'm just stating the facts."

"Well, I appreciate it." Castiel takes a moment to compose himself – the blush in his cheeks fading along with the glimmer in his eyes – then says, "You should probably go back inside, before it gets any colder. I wouldn't want you getting sick on my account."

Dean licks his lips and rubs the warmth back into his hands. "I, um… I actually wanted to ask you something. About the tree."

"Oh?"

"I know I'm not some pro-green activist like you are, but I'm kinda curious about this whole… _situation_. I guess I just wanna know what's so special about this damn tree." He throws his hands in the air, turning 360º on the spot. "There's a whole world full of 'em, Cas. Why the hell are you so determined to save _this_ one?"

For a moment, Castiel doesn't say anything; he flattens his mouth into a thin line, narrows his eyes, and studies Dean in silence. He looks like he's thinking things through – probably deciding whether Dean is worthy of being let in on the big 'secret' surrounding this tree or not.

After a good chunk of time has passed, Dean starts to worry that Castiel might be pissed at him for asking such a personal question, but then the other boy tilts his head to the side and says, "I'll tell you… on one condition."

Dean gulps. "Um. Okay. What's the condition?"

"You have to spend the night up here with me, in the tree." Castiel folds his arms and smiles smugly. "It's the only way I can show you what's so special about it."

Dean splutters a nervous laugh. "I thought you didn't want me getting sick from the cold?"

"We can share a blanket."

"I, uh… I dunno, man," he says, wringing his hands together. "That's kinda _gay_ , don't you think?"

Castiel lifts an eyebrow. "I wasn't aware that sharing a blanket with an old friend is the equivalent of initiating homosexual activities."

"Dammit, Cas, you know what I mean!"

"I really don't."

"I just don't think it's _wise_ to tempt fate, you know?"

Castiel's lips twitch. "I believe you made it _very_ clear that nothing is going to happen between us, so why worry?"

"Are you tryna kill me?"

"No, Dean. I'm trying to answer your question."

"Can't you just _tell_ me?"

"Absolutely not."

"Alright, _jeez_ … No need to get your panties in a twist." Dean scratches his chin and looks the tree up and down. It doesn't look particularly comfy, and there isn't a whole lot of room, so sharing a blanket wouldn't exactly be up for negotiation. "So, you're saying this is the only way, huh?"

Castiel nods. "Yes."

"You and me. In a tree. _Alone_. All night?"

"Precisely."

"And that doesn't freak you out?"

"Does it freak _you_ out?"

 _Abso-fucking-_ lute _ly, it does!_

"Nope."

"Well then." Castiel lifts up the blanket and pats the branch below. "My tree is your tree."

Dean snorts. "You're such a dork."

"I'm trying to ease the tension."

"You ain't exactly easing the tension by acknowledging the fact that there's tension in the first place."

"Ah, yes. My apologies."

"Don't worry about it, dude." Dean swats the air casually. If he sticks to words like 'dude' and 'man' and 'pal', he might just be able to convince himself that Castiel doesn't look absolutely gorgeous in the pale moonlight. "Just, um… scooch over, will ya? I don't wanna knock you off the fricking branch."

"I'm tied up, remember?"

"Oh. Right." He shakes his head, trying not to imagine Castiel tied up in a less appropriate way, then makes a grab for the lowest branch. He scrapes his palm on the rough texture of the bark, but manages to get a good enough grip to keep climbing.

He scrabbles up the side of the tree with the grace of a sloth, and finally gets high enough to haul himself up onto the branch where Castiel is sat. The other boy holds out his hand, and Dean takes it instinctively. His palm is slightly calloused and smells like dirt, but Dean relishes the way it feels against his skin. He's always had a weird thing for Castiel's hands.

"Welcome," Castiel says, a little giddily. His blush is back, and Dean can't help but grin like an idiot. "How do you like the view?"

Dean tears his eyes away from Castiel and leans over the branch. The grass seems so far away; it's kind of crazy to think he was stood there just a few seconds ago. And the street seems to stretch out for miles. He can see his bedroom window quite clearly (he wonders if Castiel has ever watched him before) and the small selection of shops they have – as well as the school – is visible beyond the back row of houses. Castiel can quite literally see the whole town from up here.

"It's cool."

"You're looking the wrong way." Dean barely flinches when Castiel touches his chin and tilts it upwards. "I was talking about _this_ view."

A gasp escapes his lips.

Down below, the stars looked pretty amazing, but up _here_ … it's like he's in a different world. The sky is in that in-between stage of day and night – almost black, but not quite, with a hazy, greyish-pink colour rising from the trees and buildings below. There's a deep indigo tucked behind the spattering of stars as well, like an ethereal mist snaking through space. His eyes keep picking out new colours hidden amongst the patches of black and blue – pales greens and dusky purples; sleepy pinks and faraway yellows… It's unnaturally beautiful.

But not as beautiful as the boy sat next to him.

"Oh, look!" Castiel grabs his hand and points at the sky, his eyes shining with wonder. "You see that 'W' formation of stars? That's Cassiopeia. It's visible all year round. If I was a girl, my parents were going to name me after it." He gives him a sideways grin, and Dean's stomach turns to knots. "Cassiopeia was supposedly chained to her throne in the heavens as punishment for boasting her beauty above all others." He chuckles. "Which is why I'm very grateful my parents opted for _Castiel_ in the end."

Dean frowns. "What d'you mean?"

"Well, I don't think 'Cassiopeia' would have suited me much."

"You don't think you're beautiful?"

Castiel clears his throat, his fingers still curled around Dean's hand. "I've never really thought of myself as _beautiful_ , no."

"That's stupid."

"It is?"

"You're _more_ than beautiful," Dean whispers, burying his blush in the collar of his jacket.

Castiel blinks at him in surprise. "Do you really think that, Dean?"

"Uh, yeah?"

"Oh. That's nice."

"Don't overthink it." Dean shoots him a glance, then leans forward and plucks a leaf out of his hair, letting his fingers linger against the soft, slightly greasy waves for a second longer than necessary. "You had something in your hair."

Castiel's throat ripples. "Thank you, Dean."

"You're welcome."

"You're, um… you're still touching me."

"Right." He yanks his hand away. "Sorry 'bout that."

"It's quite alright," Castiel says, grinning bashfully. "Your fingers smell like spicy food."

"Oh. We had fajitas for dinner."

"That sounds tasty."

Dean looks at him. "You hungry or something?"

"Just a little."

"I can go grab you some grub –"

"Really, Dean. I'm fine."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

"Well, okay." He shoves his hands under his thighs – so he can't reach out and touch Castiel again – then tilts his head back towards the stars. He spots Cassiopeia almost immediately and wonders how in the hell Castiel could ever think he was anything _less_ than beautiful. It makes him feel angry. _Offended_. He has half a mind to grab Castiel by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

Or maybe he could kiss him; that ought to shut him up.

"No," he mutters to himself. "Bad idea."

But when he looks back at Castiel, his heart starts to swell with that distantly familiar feeling he used to get in Middle School whenever his best friend smiled at him. He's been trying to shake that pesky feeling ever since Castiel kissed him in those woods, but the stubborn sonofabitch refuses to shift. He's stuck with being in love with someone _way_ out of his league – probably for the rest of his miserable life. How fun.

"Dean?" Castiel catches him staring and frowns. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"Huh? What? Oh, nothing! I just –"

Before he gets a chance to finish his sentence, a blur of brown and white swoops between them and lands on the end of the branch. Dean flails and almost falls backwards off the tree, but Castiel manages to grab a fistful of his shirt and steady him.

Dean slaps the air back into his lungs, then tightly circles his arms around the trunk. "Jesus Christ! What the hellwas that?"

"A barn owl." Castiel smiles and points at the fat bird perched on the opposite end of the branch. "Look."

Dean turns to find a pair of round, dark eyes watching him, nestled amongst a heart-shaped face of creamy-coloured feathers. The owl is only an arm's length away – close enough to touch – and it strikes Dean with an overwhelming sense of privilege.

For some reason, this wild animal isn't afraid of them. It's crazy. He's never been in this position before; teenage boys don't exactly make a habit of bird-watching, not unless they want their asses kicking. But this is so much cooler than getting drunk and stoned with a bunch of strangers, and Dean can't help but wonder if feeling this way is worth a little ass-kicking…

A gust of wind passes through the trees, making the owl puff up its feathers to fend off the cold. Its flat beak stretches wide in a yawn, then goes back to grinding contentedly.

"You're smiling," Castiel says. "Are you beginning to see the appeal now?"

Dean nods his head, still staring in wonder. "Yeah."

"So, you'll stay?"

"Just for tonight."

"Of course."

The owl suddenly rises and stretches out its wings, and Dean impulsively reaches for Castiel's hand. He holds his breath, willing down the blush in his cheeks, and lets it stay there. For a terrifying moment, Castiel doesn't respond, but then he gently squeezes Dean's hand and pulls him back against his chest. Dean doesn't dare to breathe while Castiel ties the rope around their waists; he's too lost in the feeling of Castiel's surprisingly toned arm hugging his body. It feels nice. _Too_ nice. The kind of nice you could easily surrender to.

"You haven't really forgotten, have you?" Castiel asks once the owl has flown away and their both on the brink of sleep. "I mean, about the stories you used to tell me. You do still remember, right?"

Dean snuggles against Castiel's arm and groans. "Yeah, I remember."

"Will you tell me one now?"

"No, Cas," he says, gritting his teeth through another wave of guilt. "It's the middle of the night. Go to sleep."

"Oh. Okay."

"Sorry. I'm just tired, you know?"

"I understand." Castiel sniffs a little, then says, "Goodnight, Dean."

A smile touches his lips. "Goodnight, Cas."


	6. Chapter 6

When he first wakes up, Dean is overcome with a blinding sense of panic and confusion. There's something digging into his stomach, trapping him. He has no idea where he is, or why there's another person snoring softly against his back. _He can't breathe_.

But then he spots the familiar sight of his house across the street, and everything comes rushing back to him.

"Fuck," he mumbles. His mouth feels gross; he didn't get a chance to brush his teeth last night, so all he can taste is the day-old remnants of fajitas still tingling on his tongue.

Behind him, Castiel grumbles and smacks his lips together. Dean looks down at the arms still wrapped around his waist and curses the uncomfortable bulge in his pants. Now is _really_ not the time for his teenage hormones to start acting up.

"Down, boy," he hisses, grinding his palm against his crotch.

Once he's sorted himself out, he carefully unties the rope fastening him and Castiel against the trunk of the tree, then does his best to retie the knot around Castiel's midsection. After he's freed himself, he takes a moment to catch his bearings and wake himself up. It's a new day, and that means the tree is being cut down tomorrow afternoon. He doesn't even want to _think_ about the aftermath.

He looks back at Castiel, and his heart soars. He looks unbearably adorable when he's sleeping. There's a spiral-shaped wave clinging to his forehead, and his lips keep silently mouthing words Dean can't make out. He must be dreaming. There's a furrow in his brow, like he's concentrating really hard on something. Dean wishes he could take a peek inside his head and see all the crazy, wonderful things someone like Castiel must think about on a daily basis. But even if he _could_ see inside Castiel's head, he probably wouldn't understand.

When Castiel whimpers, Dean's fingers twitch. He can't resist reaching out and sweeping the hair from his face, his hand moulding to the shape of Castiel's cheek. His skin is warm and textured, and Dean wants nothing more than to press his lips against its salty surface. But that would be dumb, so he doesn't.

"You drive me crazy," he whispers. The wrinkle between Castiel's eyebrows tightens, and his hands turn to fists by his chin. Dean waits for him to settle down, then adds, "I wish I could have you… but you deserve better than an ass like me. It just wouldn't be fair."

Castiel makes a scoff-like noise, then rubs his head against the tree. No wonder his hair looks like a bird's nest. Dean tries to smooth it down with his hands, but the unruly waves keep twisting and popping up in all directions. There's no use in trying to tame it; and besides, it's actually kind of cute.

"I should go," he says, more to himself than anything. "My folks are probably freaking the fuck out." He glances back at his house, where the kitchen lights have just turned on, then pulls his hand away. "I'll catch you later."

But as soon as he lowers himself onto the next branch down, Castiel reaches out and grabs his arm. His eyes are bleary with sleep, but his grip is desperately tight. Dean touches his hand and loosens the fingers wrapped around his forearm. Castiel blinks a few times, then lets go. He looks a little dazed, like he's still half asleep. Dean hates himself for waking him.

"Hey," he whispers. "You're awake."

Castiel frowns. "Where are you going?"

"I've gotta get to school."

"Can't you skip?"

Dean barks a laugh. "Uh, _no_. Not really, Cas."

"Why not?"

"You're insane." He shakes his head fondly, then throws a look over his shoulder. "I've already gotta explain to my folks why I spent the night in a _tree_ without telling them first, so I ain't exactly looking for _more_ reasons to piss them off."

"You think they'll be mad?"

"Nah… but I probably should've told 'em."

"You can blame me."

"Oh, I will," he says with a smirk.

Castiel smiles. "I really enjoyed spending time with you last night."

"Yeah. It was alright, wasn't it?"

"I hope the experience helped answer your questions."

Dean shrugs. "I guess it did. I mean, I get why you love being up here so much now, but I still don't understand why you're taking this whole thing so personally. There's gotta be more to it than a pretty view, right?"

"There is. But that's a different story."

"Aw, c'mon. That ain't fair."

"Fine." Castiel folds his arms – the same way he did when he came up with the ridiculous idea of Dean sleeping in the tree with him. "Come back after school, and I'll tell you."

"Really?"

"Of course," he says. "I think you've earnt my honesty."

Dean doesn't think he's earnt _anything_ from Castiel, but he smothers his insecurities with a grin and says, "Alright. But I ain't sleeping in the tree again, so don't even _try_ me, Novak."

"I promise, I won't."

"Good." He can feel his brief buzz of happiness (a stubborn side effect of hanging out with Castiel) beginning to dull, so he drops his smile and shrinks away before it can rope him back in again; if he's not careful, he'll end up skipping school and spending the day in a tree with the boy of his dreams – no matter _how_ much shit it would get him into. "I really have to go now…"

"Okay. Just wait." Castiel twists around and starts rifling through his rucksack. After a few seconds of frantic searching, he turns back around and slips something into Dean's hand. "I thought you might like this, as a reminder of how last night made you feel."

Dean looks down at the feather resting on his palm. It's delicate and soft, just like the slow-blinking stare of the owl. _Just like his feelings for Castiel_. He traces the thin, brown shaft with his fingertips, then tucks the feather into his jacket.

"Thanks," he says, his voice thick. "I'll, uh… keep it as a lucky charm or something."

"That sounds like a nice idea."

"Yeah." He drums his fingers against the branch where Castiel is sat, trying to muster up the courage to keep the conversation going instead of running away like a baby. He thinks maybe something happened between them last night – between him calling Castiel beautiful, and Dean almost falling out of the tree. There was a moment where he was dangerously close to leaning forward and kissing his old friend, but luckily that damn bird knocked some sense into him.

He wonders if Castiel felt it too, and if that means it would be too weird to try and be buddies again. But how the hell is he supposed to broach the subject with Castiel without _admitting_ that something happened between them in the first place?

"Dean?" Castiel cocks his head to the side – kind of like an owl – and narrows his eyes. "Are you internally stressing over something? I know that look."

Dean snorts. "How d'you know what I look like when I'm stressed?"

"Well, we _were_ friends at one point, remember?"

"I don't think I ever got stressed in Middle School, man."

"Oh, you did. It was quite subtle, but I could always sense when something was bothering you." He shrugs, a little sheepishly. "I guess you could call it a best friend's intuition."

Dean licks his lips. "It's nothing. I'm just… I'm kinda bummed about the tree."

"Really?"

"Yeah. A little. I mean, it's fucking awesome up here."

Castiel hums. "It is, yes."

"Oh. Sorry, dude. I didn't mean to make you sad or anything."

"It's quite alright, Dean. I appreciate the sentiment." He gives him a watery smile. "I'm just glad I was able to open your mind, before it was too late."

"Me, too," Dean says, awkwardly patting him on the knee.

Castiel takes his hand and squeezes it, then nods across the road. "You need to go. You'll be late for school otherwise."

"I can stay, if you want –"

"No." Castiel shakes his head. Dean can see a sporadic breakdown coming a mile off, and he knows that Castiel is the kind of person who would rather cry his eyes out in private; that's why he's suddenly so eager to push him away. "I don't want you to miss school because of me. Please, Dean. I'll see you later."

"Alright." Dean gently pulls his hand out of Castiel's grip. "I'll come by after dinner, okay?"

"Yes. That sounds nice."

"Try not to think too hard about tomorrow, you hear me?"

"I'll try."

"Okay." He gives Castiel one last smile, then scrambles down the tree, landing on the wet earth with a solid _thump_.

He can already hear the muffled cries coming from the branches behind him, so he decides to walk away without looking back or saying goodbye – even though it breaks his heart. He wishes he could magically fix this crappy situation, but he can't; respecting Castiel's privacy is literally the only decent thing he's capable of doing right now. And as useless as it makes him feel, at least it's something.


	7. Chapter 7

Castiel looks insanely pretty tonight. Maybe it's the pale moonlight spilling over his wiry frame, or the way his hair is slightly ruffled from the wind; or maybe this window has some weird, distortion effect that makes everything look like a fricking oil painting on the other side. Either way, he can't seem to stop staring at the boy across the street. He's just too damn beautiful _not_ to be stared at, you know? Which is why he's so nervous about paying him another visit.

What if he can't control himself? What if he touches his hand or calls him beautiful again? What if he can't stop staring at him and his stupid feelings come bursting out? What if –

"You know you've been washing that plate for ten minutes, right?"

Dean jumps at the sound of his dad's voice and drops the plate in his hands, splashing a wave of dirty water against his chest. "Huh? What? How long've you been standing there?"

"Long enough," his dad says, a slight smirk playing on his lips. "I know what you're doing, boy."

"I dunno what you're talking about."

"Yeah, you do."

"Dad –"

"I ain't stupid, son. _Old_ , but not stupid." He nods at the window above the sink and laughs. "I didn't know you were pining this hard."

Dean blushes. "What? _Pining_? That's hilarious, dad."

"Oh, okay," he says with a rise of his eyebrows. "I thought you got distracted staring at Novak through the window, but I guess you're just _real_ keen on washing the dishes, huh? My mistake."

"I wasn't… Why would I…? I mean, I don't –"

"No need to explain yourself."

"There's nothing to explain!"

"Sure, sure."

"Dad, seriously…"

"What?"

"I'm not _pining_ after Cas, alright?"

"Okay."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You're a smart kid, Dean. You know what 'okay' means."

"Not when you say it like _that_ , I don't!"

His dad lifts his shoulders and sighs. "I know what you're going through, son. I went through the same thing with your mom."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Well, she was the pretty, smart girl from the right side of the tracks – nice house, good money, solid grades… and I was the guy with an alcoholic dad and debts up to me eyeballs before I hit twenty." He gives Dean a look. "D'you really think asking out your mom was easy?"

"I thought mom asked _you_ out?"

"Well, she _had_ to in the end. I was never gonna do it."

"How come?"

"'cause I didn't think I was good enough," his dad says simply. "When I first saw your mom, I had a black eye and two holes in my shirt… She was the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid my eyes on, and I was a _mess_."

Dean huffs a laugh. "What did you do?"

"I ran away, like an idiot. She never even saw me. Wasn't until two weeks later that we actually met."

"Really?"

"Yep. I was damn lucky she came into the garage that day, or else I might've missed my chance. Imagine that."

Dean does. "Me and Sam wouldn't be here."

"Nope. And I probably would've followed in my daddy's footsteps."

"So, mom saved you?"

"Damn straight, she did."

"Huh." Dean considers this for a moment. "But what if you'd met someone else, or moved outta town or something? You still think you would've ended up like that?"

"Maybe not," his dad says, leaning back against the sink. "But I would've missed out on something real special. A once in a lifetime kinda thing, you know? That's what your mom was for me: a real chance at happiness… My one in seven billion."

"You think there's only one person for everyone?"

"Course not. But there _is_ a special kind of love that doesn't happen too often; so when it comes around, you've gotta snatch it – while you've got the chance." He points at Castiel's silhouette through the window, then gives Dean a playful nudge. "That boy out there? He might just be that special someone for _you_ , son. And I know you ain't big on feelings, but you ain't that great at _hiding_ them either." He chuckles. "It's written all over your face, you know?"

Dean stares down at the shipwreck of dishes in the sink, pointedly avoiding his dad's knowing smirk, and shrugs. "You're seeing things, old man. Must be the cataracts catching up."

"That's funny… Almost as funny as you deflecting."

"Deflecting? I'm not _deflecting_."

"Okay, but you _are_ denying you have feelings for Castiel?"

"Well, I don't!"

"Right."

"Since when're you so obsessed with the Novaks, anyway? You're worse than mom and Sam."

"I'm just sick of seeing you moping around the place like a lovesick puppy. We all know how you feel, Dean. And it's pretty damn obvious that Novak feels the same way. So why in the hell are you two dancing around each other, huh? Why aren't you doing something about it?"

Dean throws a fork onto the draining board and stomps across the room, purposely shouldering past his dad in the process. He doesn't owe anyone an explanation; his feelings for Castiel are _his_ fucking business. And the last thing he needs is his parents pushing him towards something he can never have – something he doesn't _deserve_ to have. It's not fair. If anything, it's _cruel_.

"Why can't you just drop it?" he hisses. "Me and Cas were friends a long time ago, and now we're not. End of story."

"It doesn't have to be."

"Look, dad. I'm happy you've found your true calling as a fricking _love_ guru and everything, but leave me out of it, alright? I really don't wanna hear your bullshit _hippy_ advice."

"I know you feel like crap right now, so I'm gonna let that one slide," his dad says. "But that doesn't mean I'm gonna stand by and watch you screw up your life over something so ridiculous. You're a good kid, and you deserve some damn happiness."

"I _am_ happy."

"Oh, c'mon. Don't gimme that."

Dean scrubs a tear from his cheek with heel of his palm. "Well, I'm sorry I'm not _jolly_ enough for you, dad."

"I just want my son back."

"I'm right here."

"You know what I mean." He presses his lips together. "Things have changed. You don't have any friends; you spend all your time hauled up your room doing God knows what; you go quiet whenever me and your mom talk about college; you have no idea what you wanna do with your life… I can feel you slipping away from us."

"I dunno what you want me to say."

"I _want_ you stop being so hard on yourself," he says. "Do what makes you happy. Go talk to that boy and tell him how you feel."

Dean dries his hands on a ratty tea towel and shakes his head. "No way. I can't do that, dad. He's like this _perfect_ specimen, you know? And I'm not even close to being on his level. It just wouldn't work out…"

"So you _do_ like him, huh?"

"Fine," he groans. "I admit it. You happy now?"

"A little."

"Still doesn't change anything."

His dad touches his top lip with the tip of his tongue – something he does when he's thinking hard – then crosses the room. Dean flinches when he puts his hand on his shoulder; he's not used to his dad being all 'touchy-feely' with him.

"I almost lost your mom 'cause I didn't think I was good enough," he says, his eyes dark and serious. "And if she hadn't strolled into that garage and gave me her number, I'd still be thinking the same thing. But she changed the way I felt about myself, you see? She _liked_ me, and that made all the difference in the world." He tilts his head forward, like a school teacher giving his pupils a good-natured lecture on the trials and tribulations of life. "You'd be a damn fool to make the same mistake I did, kid. 'cause not everyone gets the second chance I was given."

Dean chews the inside of his cheek. "I can't ask him out, dad. I just… I can't do that, alright?"

"Fine. That's okay." He shrugs. "But at least talk to him. Don't lose him as a friend, you hear me? Castiel's good people, and you need good people in your life. Even if you don't think you deserve them."

And with that, he slaps him on the back and goes upstairs.

Dean lingers in the doorway for a while, momentarily stunned by his dad's uncharacteristically wise words. He makes it sound so easy, like reinserting himself into Castiel's life would be simple and painless. But it wouldn't be.

Even if Castiel really _did_ forgive him for what he did all those years ago, Dean would still be constantly plagued by his shitty actions, knowing deep down that he'll never be good enough for Castiel… You see people redeem themselves in the movies all the time, but that's usually after a five-minute montage with happy, upbeat music playing in the background. And Dean isn't really a montage kind of guy.

"Jesus Christ." He scrubs a hand over his face. "I'm so fucked."

He glances out the window and catches a glimpse of Castiel's feet swinging back and forth beneath the branch. He smiles. Castiel is so calm and rational – nothing like Dean, who's jittery and short-fused. How the hell would they even _work_ together? His mom would probably spew some spiritual bullshit about opposite personalities complimenting each other, but Dean doesn't believe in that sort of thing.

He's 99.9% sure that Castiel would get bored of his attitude after a while; and that would depress him _way_ more than the dreaded 'what ifs'. At least with 'what ifs', you've got the freedom to pretend that things could've worked out in the end. Happy ever afters are much less complicated when they're hypothetical.

After a few more seconds of feeling sorry for himself, Dean slides his tongue over his teeth and snaps himself back into action. He promised to visit Castiel after dinner, and that's exactly what he's going to do. He just needs to grab a few things from upstairs first…

Once he's packed and ready to go, he sneaks outside – like he's on some top-secret mission or something – and trudges across the wet grass towards the tree. Castiel has his back to him, so Dean is free to be as nervous and fidgety as he likes until he turns around. He takes the opportunity to calm himself with a series of deep, cooling breaths; just enough to ease the frantic fluttering in his chest. The last thing he needs is to keel over in the middle of the fricking street because his heart can't keep up with him at the grand old age of seventeen.

"Uh. Hey, Cas," he says, once he's managed to peel his tongue from the roof of his mouth. "Sorry I'm late. I was washing the dishes."

Castiel smiles over his shoulder, then twists around. "It's okay, Dean. I saw you through the window."

"You did?"

"I can see everything from up here, remember?"

"Hah. Yeah."

"So. You want to know why this tree is so special to me?"

Dean shuffles his feet. "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, you know?"

"I know. But it's okay. I _do_ want to."

"Oh. Okay."

"But you need to come here first," Castiel says, patting the branch next to him. He's wearing that smug little smile again, and Dean can't help but laugh.

"You're a sneaky sonofabitch, you know that?"

"I only promised that I wouldn't make you _sleep_ in the tree again."

Dean snorts. "You got me there."

"Loopholes are my speciality," Castiel says with a grin. "I suppose you could say I've got a lot of free time on my hands."

"That is true."

Dean tosses his bag up to Castiel, then takes the same route up the side of the tree as he did last night. It's a little darker out, but he manages to make the climb without breaking any bones. Castiel grabs his forearm and pulls him up the rest of the way, then hands him back his bag. There's a curious glint in his eyes, and Dean can tell he's wondering why he brought a bag if he's not planning on spending the night again.

"I brought you some stuff," he explains, unzipping the rucksack and pulling out a balled-up blanket full of random things. "I just figured this might be your last night in the tree, so you probably wanna make it special."

Castiel gives him a strange smile, then pours over the varied spread of useless items. It's mainly junk he found in the back of his drawers: an old Rubik's cube with a missing centre piece; a zip bag of tiny, toy soldiers; an electronic sudoku game; a notepad covered in meaningless doodles etc. But he also threw in a bag of snack mix, a couple cans of diet coke, a torch, and a paperback copy of _Fahrenheit 451_.

"That's a really good one," he says, gently tapping the front of the book. "It's set in a future where all books have been banned 'cause the government wants to control what knowledge is available to the public." He winces at the nerdy enthusiasm in his voice, then adds, "I kinda thought it was relevant 'cause, you know… it's about people mindlessly destroying things they don't understand. But the ending's kinda hopeful, so I dunno… I thought you might like it."

"That's very sweet of you, Dean." Castiel touches the back of his hand and smiles. "Have you remembered any of your _own_ stories yet?"

"Nice try."

Castiel chuckles. "And the rest?"

"Oh, right!" He gathers his drawer-dwelling junk into one pile and shrugs, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "I figured you probably won't get much sleep tonight, so I brought you some stuff to keep you occupied. It ain't much, but it's all I could find."

Castiel quirks an amused eyebrow. "Toy soldiers?"

"Hey! Those things are the _bomb_ , dude."

"Oh, my _sincerest_ apologies…"

"You being sarcy with me?"

"Of course not," Castiel says, slapping a hand over his heart. "I would _never_."

Dean laughs. "You're such a dick."

"I try."

"Whose wise idea was it to teach you sarcasm, anyway?"

"I believe it was _you_ , in 7th grade," he says. "Zachariah Milton was being mean to me in the playground, so you taught me how to embarrass him with sarcasm. I developed a flare for it."

Dean snaps his fingers and grins. "Oh, yeah! I remember now. _Man_ , that guy was such an _asshole_."

"I thought you two were friends?"

"What? No."

"Oh… I thought you started hanging around with Zach and Gordon in High School. I must be confusing him with someone else."

Dean thinks for a moment, then cringes. "I mean, I used to eat lunch with them in 9th grade, but that was it. I'd never be _actual_ friends with dickwads like that."

"What are 'actual friends'?"

"Well, people you _actually_ like."

"So, you were just pretending to be their friend?" Castiel frowns. "Why would you do that?"

"I dunno." Dean shrugs, picking at the peeling stickers on the Rubik's cube. "I guess I just wanted to seem cool or something. They were the most popular guys in our year, and no one ever gave them crap. I think I wanted to just _glide_ through High School, you know? Like them. No trouble; no stress. I didn't wanna be another nerdy freshman who gets stuffed in their locker by the older kids."

Castiel smiles a little. "Like _me_ , you mean?"

"Is that what they did to you?"

"Occasionally." He shrugs. "Knocking over my tray in the cafeteria was more their style. They rarely had the guts to lay their hands on me."

"Yeah, but still… that really sucks."

"Oh, it never bothered me. I knew it wasn't personal. The vast majority of bullies punish the people around them to distract themselves from their own insecurities." He flicks a glance at Dean. "If anything, I suppose they were envious of me."

"You think?"

"Well, I'm a generally happy person. On the surface, at least. Perhaps they were jealous of that happiness."

"Whaddya mean 'on the surface'?"

Castiel clasps his hands together and sighs. "You asked me why this tree means so much to me, why I'm trying so hard to protect it… Well, it's because we have a history."

"You and the tree?"

"Yes. I suppose you could say it's been my only friend over the past few years."

Dean screws up his face. "You have _friends_ , Cas. I've seen you hanging out with Kevin Tran, and that cute redhead from computer club… Oh, that weird British guy with all the V-necks!"

"I've never spoken to Kevin or Charlie outside of school, and Balthazar is my cousin. I don't think any of them count as 'actual friends'."

"So, you have no one?"

"I have my parents. And my chickens. But that's about it."

"Cas, I…"

"It's sad, I know." He looks up at Dean, and his cheeks are slightly pink. "This tree has been my sanctuary on multiple occasions: when Michael and his gang used to chase me home after school; when I failed my first test, and needed somewhere to cry; when my homophobic aunt visited us last summer; when _you_ stopped being my friend, and I had nowhere else to go…"

Dean looks away, ashamed. "I didn't know any of this. How come you didn't tell me?"

"You didn't want to hear it, Dean. Not after I kissed you."

"If I'd known it was this bad –"

"It wouldn't have made a difference," Castiel says. The sureness in his voice stings a little bit. But then a smile graces his lips, and his eyes turn soft again. "You were afraid back then, Dean. But you've changed."

"I-I have?"

"Yes." He tucks his left leg against his chest, so he can turn and face Dean completely. "I'm sure of it."

Dean scoffs. "I think you've got a little too much faith in me, man."

"I can't help it. I'm rooting for you."

"But, why?"

"I'm not sure. Old habits die hard, I suppose."

"I was always terrible to you."

"No, you weren't."

Dean hangs his head between his knees. "It never made sense, us being friends. You're so smart and kind, and I'm just… I'm a jerk, alright?" He looks up at Castiel. "But for some reason, you still wanna stick around. And, honestly? I'm okay with that."

"You mean, you _do_ want to be friends again?"

"I wanna give it a shot, yeah."

Castiel's smile is sweet and gummy. "I'd like that very much, Dean."

"Awesome."

"I've missed you a lot."

"Yeah. Me, too." Dean swallows thickly, their eyes meeting with a sweet tingle of electricity. If this were a movie, Dean would probably lean forward and kiss him right now – his insecurities and self-loathing be damned. But, this is real life, so instead he just smiles and blushes like an idiot.

"I really missed you," Castiel says again, only there's an extra little something in his voice now.

Dean just nods. Because what else is he supposed to do?

"I've been so lonely."

"Not anymore."

Castiel jerks his head up. "You mean that?"

"Uh, _duh_." Dean grins, hoping to lighten the mood again. "You know you're stuck with me for good now, right?"

And just like that, Castiel kisses him.

For a moment, Dean forgets he isn't supposed to be enjoying this. His lips automatically move against Castiel's warm, pliant mouth, his hand clutching onto Castiel's shoulder. A happy sigh whines in the back of his throat, and he can feel Castiel smiling against his skin. It only lasts a few seconds, but it feels like an eternity – like a hazy, slow-motion snippet of a really, _really_ good dream.

But then a hanging branch scratches against his arm, and reality comes swooping back in.

"Cas, wait!" He shoves him away, then touches his swollen lips. "W-We can't do this. I'm sorry, man. But no. This was a mistake."

Castiel blinks. "You kissed me back."

"Yeah, I know I did. But I shouldn'thave. It was just _instinct_ , you know?"

"Instinct?" Castiel blinks again – a little faster this time – and Dean can see the tears springing to life in the corner of his eyes. "That wasn't _instinct_ , Dean. Why are you lying to yourself?"

"This _can't_ happen, Cas."

"Why not?"

"I said I wanted to be your friend, not your _boy_ friend!"

"Oh, so this is my fault?" Castiel cries, his voice cracking on the 'my'. He stares at Dean in silence for a moment, then presses his chin against his chest. It's like his head is suddenly too heavy for him to hold up. A horrible choking noise wrenches out of him, and then he says, "Of course this is my fault. I've clearly misread the situation. _God_ , it's like that summer all over again." He grabs a fistful of his hair and shudders. "Why can't I just move on from you?"

Dean thumbs the corner of his mouth, his heart pounding with the realisation that Castiel has been pining for him this entire time. "You didn't misread anything," he says. "You know I like you, Cas. But that doesn't mean this can happen."

"I don't understand."

"I'm not good enough for you. Never have been."

Castiel rolls his eyes. "Oh, _please_. Spare me the made-up excuses, Dean."

"That's not what this is."

"You're too ashamed to be seen with me. _That's_ what this is."

"What? No!"

"Just have the decency to admit it, Dean. Don't try and sell me some sad story about your low self-esteem. It's _insulting_."

Dean shakes his head. "I just don't wanna put you through my crap. You deserve better than that."

"So, you're doing this for me? How selfless."

"Please, Cas. You've gotta understand –"

"Oh, I understand _perfectly_ now," he says with a sour twist of his mouth. "Your ego and reputation will always come first. That's the way it's _always_ been." A lump bulges in his throat. "I guess I was just seeing what I wanted to see."

"Cas, _please_ –"

"Just go, Dean. I'm too tired for this."

"You shouldn't be alone tonight."

"I'll be fine."

"You're upset."

"Why do you care?"

Dean opens his mouth, but no words come out. How can he explain how much he cares without making things worse?

"Don't worry," Castiel says. "I don't expect some grand apology. I just want to be alone for a while."

"But, what about us?"

"Us?"

"Yeah, I mean… We can still be friends, right?"

Castiel barks a bitter laugh, then rolls his eyes up to the sky. He really _does_ look tired. "I just need some time to think," he says, his voice a croak, "but I can't do that while you're around."

"Cas…"

"Please, Dean. Leave me alone. And take your things."

"You don't want them?"

"Not right now."

"Oh." He hesitates for a moment, then shoves his blanket-bundle of crappy, childhood knickknacks back into his bag. "I'm gonna leave you the book, in case you get bored."

Castiel doesn't say anything.

"Okay. I, um… I guess I'll just go then."

Silence.

"I really _am_ sorry."

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. "Just go, Dean."

"Alright." He slings his bag over his shoulder and scrambles clumsily down the tree, chafing his palms on the rough bark along the way. He skips the last few branches, and a sharp pain jolts up his legs when his feet hit the ground, but he doesn't care. He barely even notices.

Castiel has turned the other way again, so all he can see is the back of his head and the rumpled lapels of his trenchcoat dangling over the edge of the branch. He wants to say something – to call out and make everything right with a witty one-liner – but every part of him feels empty, like there isn't a shred of _anything_ beyond this aching feeling left inside of him.

Is aching a feeling, or is it the _absence_ of feeling? He's not sure. But whatever it is, it sucks hard.

When he's back in his room, Dean sits at the desk facing the tree and waits for the beam of torchlight to come slicing through his window, just like it did the night he gave Castiel his copy of _Slaughterhouse-Five_. He waits for almost an hour, but nothing happens. Castiel just sits there in the darkness, and Dean keeps on aching. After a while, he rests his head on top of his folded arms and lets his eyes slip closed. His cheeks are wet, and his shoulders are shaking, but he doesn't make a sound.

And the light never comes.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel likes his coffee extra strong, with just a splash of milk. And he likes his waffles with _honey_ , not syrup. Dean has no idea how he knows all of this, but his hands seem pretty damn confident in what they're doing, so he decides not to question it. All in all, it smells great, so he takes that as a good sign. He stacks three perfectly square waffles onto a plate (with an artistic drizzling of honey) and carefully places them onto a breakfast tray next to the steaming mug of coffee. It looks like a fucking Instagram post, which makes him feel weirdly proud of himself.

For the first time in weeks, it's raining outside. But it's not _proper_ rain; it's that annoying, spitty kind of rain that gets in your eyes and speckles your clothes with thousands of tiny, dark spots. Dean can't think of a more appropriate setting for the conversation that's about to take place.

Castiel is slumped over his bag, with his trenchcoat pulled over his head to fend off the rain. For some reason, he looks adorable. But now isn't the time to get distracted by Castiel's inherent _cuteness_ , so Dean shields the breakfast tray with his jacket and sprints over to the tree (again, forgetting to look both ways before crossing the road).

"Uh… Hey, buddy!" he says once he's reached the relative shelter of the tree's overhanging leaves. "I brought you some breakfast. Thought you might be hungry – big day and all."

Castiel peeks out from under his coat, his eyes blazing. "Did you just call me _buddy_?" he asks.

Dean winces. "Oh. Right. Um, my bad."

"Leave me alone, Dean."

"C'mon, man! I gave you some space last night, but now we've gotta talk. This is kind of a big deal, you know?"

"Oh, trust me. _I know_."

"I really didn't mean to hurt you, Cas."

"Then why did you reject me?"

"B-Because –"

"Even though you _supposedly_ return my feelings, you still turned me away. You made me feel _ridiculous_ , Dean. It was bad enough going through this as a child, but now? While I'm at my most vulnerable?" He slumps back against the trunk of the tree, his coat slipping off his head. "You lead me to believe you were ready for something more than friendship. I've spent the whole night thinking this through, and I _know_ I didn't imagine that. So, why did you give me false hope? Why not keep on ignoring me?"

Dean bites his bottom lip. "I told you, Cas. You're under my skin. I couldn't let you go through this alone."

"It would have been easier. _And_ fairer."

"I didn't know this would happen."

"That I would kiss you?" Castiel scoffs. "I've done it in the past; it shouldn't surprise you."

"I thought you'd be over me by now – especially after all the crap I put you through."

"Stop being so obtuse, Dean."

"Whaddya mean?"

Castiel shoots him a hard look, like he shouldn't have to be explaining himself. "I've been in love with you since we were eight years old," he says. "Ever since you pushed Meg Masters in the mud for pulling my hair in 3rd grade. Did you really think it would be that simple to just 'get over you?'"

Dean balks. "I-In _love_? Cas, I didn't –"

"It's okay that you don't feel the same way," Castiel interjects. His voice is calm on the surface, but Dean can hear the bitterness lying beneath his nonchalant façade. "Maybe you did at some point – maybe you think you still do – but I know, without a shadow of a doubt, that if you _truly_ returned my feelings, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

"Cas, I… I _told_ you why we can't be together. It's got nothing to do with you, man. You're awesome! _Perfect_ , even, and I… How the hell am I supposed to keep up with that, huh?"

Castiel rolls his eyes so hard, Dean worries he might burst something.

"Do you really expect me to believe that the only reason you pushed me away last night is because you don't think you're good enough for me?"

"Well, it's the fucking truth!"

"It's pathetic. And absurd." Castiel absently wrings the rainwater from the sleeves of his coat, all the while glaring down at Dean. "Everyone has insecurities, all of varying degrees. It's part of being human. But when you care about something – _really_ care about something – you don't just abandon it because you're afraid. You fight through your issues and you make it work. That's what life is all about, Dean: fighting for the things you love." For a split second, he stops looking so pissed. "There's nothing more rewarding, remember?"

Dean pokes at a cooling lump of waffle and sighs. "You make it sound so easy."

"It is. _That's the point_."

"Do you have any fucking idea how the mind works?" he hisses. "I've got serious issues, dude. And there ain't a fucking _off_ switch for 'em, funnily enough." He throws the tray to the ground, his blood beginning to spike. "I don't know how you see me, but it doesn't matter anyway. _I hate myself_ , alright? I fucking _hate_ myself. That's why I put on a smile, flirt with the ladies, act like I'm normal… 'cause underneath the mask? It ain't pretty, lemme tell ya."

Castiel shakes his head, like he feels sorry for him. It's excruciating.

"That's no way to live, Dean."

"Well, it's been working for me so far."

"Has it?"

He sighs again, his breath pillowing through the morning air like tiny, crystallised clouds. "No," he says. "But if I keep telling myself it's working, maybe someday it will. Fake it till you make it, amiright?"

"So, you'd rather live a lie than face your fears?"

"I'm not a brave guy, Cas."

"Why do you say that?"

"When you kissed me, I fled. _Both times_." He shrugs. "That's the kinda person I am, I guess. I'm a runner, not a fighter."

"You could change that."

Dean looks down at the spilt mug of coffee leeching into the grass, his toes beginning to curl. "I'm a coward," he says decisively. "And I don't care if you think I'm saying that for attention or whatever... If thinking that makes it easier for you to hate me, then fine. That'll work."

"Why do you want me to hate you?"

"'cause then you can move on," he says, shrugging. "I don't want you hung up on me, Cas. You deserve better."

"Stop saying that."

"It's the truth, ain't it?"

"No." Castiel wrinkles his nose. "And I'm confused… Last night, you asked if we can still be friends, but now you're saying you'd rather cut me out of your life completely. Is that what you really want?"

"Course that's not what I want. But you didn't look too pleased at the idea of being friends after all this, so… I dunno. I thought this might be easier."

Castiel rubs his right temple and sighs. "I may have overreacted last night. I was embarrassed and confused. I lashed out at you." He turns soft eyes on Dean. "I suppose I find it difficult to comprehend the idea of you not feeling worthy of me."

"Whaddya mean?"

"Well, you're Dean Winchester," Castiel says, laughing wetly. "You're kind and funny and fiercely protective… And beautiful." He sniffs. "You could have anyone in the world, and yet you think someone like _me_ is too good for you. It's quite surreal."

Dean snorts. "What the hell've you been smoking, man?"

Castiel smiles sadly, then tucks his knees under his chin. He rests his head on his shoulder and studies Dean with bright, slightly squinted eyes. "I wish the circumstances were different," he whispers. "I wish I could make you see how wonderful you are, so you could truly understand how much I care about you. But I realise now that you need more time than I thought." He swallows thickly, a single tear sliding down his cheek. "I really hope you learn to see yourself the way _I_ see you someday… But I'm just not sure I can wait for that day to come anymore. It's too hard, Dean."

"What are you saying?"

"That maybe you're right; maybe it _is_ time for me to let you go. For both our sakes."

Dean pinches his fingers together, urging himself not to cry. "Right. Yeah, okay. I think that's the right call to make."

"I'm not ruling out the possibility of friendship forever, I just… I think we need some time apart."

"Yeah. Sure."

"I don't like doing this, Dean."

"No, I know." He sniffs hard and blinks his tears away. "I've gotta work out my issues, and you… Well, you've got a tree to save. There's no room for excess drama, right?"

Castiel nods. "Right."

"Okay. So, um… That's that then, I guess."

"Would you like your book back?"

"Nah. You keep it," he says, his left cheek twitching with a smile. "You can give it back to me another time."

"Are you sure?"

"Positive."

He bends down to pick the waffles and coffee off the ground. There are flecks of grass encased in the honey, and a smudge of dirt around the rim of the mug. It's sad to think this breakfast tray was Instagram-worthy less than twenty minutes ago.

"Good luck for this afternoon," he says, grimacing at the lukewarm coffee on his fingers. "Not that you need it. I'm sure you'll have no problem knocking those fuckers onto their asses."

Castiel chuckles. "This is a _peaceful_ protest, Dean. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Oh, right. My bad." He rubs the back of his neck, then says, "I know you don't wanna hear this again, but I'm really sorry, Cas. I fucking hate myself for doing this to you. If things could be different, I'd –"

"I know," Castiel says, smiling slightly. "It's okay, Dean. I understand."

"I really care about you, man."

"And I you. But the last thing I want to do is force you into something you're not ready for. It wouldn't be fair on either of us."

Dean sucks in a breath. "I'm gonna sort myself out, I promise."

"Alright."

"I mean, I'm not asking you to wait for me or anything, but I just want you to know that."

Castiel huffs fondly. "I have faith in you, Dean."

"I have no idea why, but thanks."

"You're welcome." Castiel ducks his head, the smile fading from his lips. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd really like to be alone now. I just need some time to think things through."

"Oh, yeah. Of course."

"Thank you, Dean. For apologising. And being here for me."

He shrugs. "It was no biggy."

"Well… Goodbye."

"Seya, Cas."

Walking away feels wrong. Even though he knows deep down that giving Castiel space is the right thing to do – for both of them – he can't ignore the hollow ache in his chest, like he's just thrown away a vital organ or something. He wants to turn around and take back everything he said about not being right for each other, but that would be a dick move. After all the crap he's put Castiel through, the least he can do is respect his boundaries.


	9. Chapter 9

On the days when everything sucks, and nothing feels worth it, Dean has a ritual to drown out his bad thoughts and clear his mind of all the crappy things going on in his life at the moment. Said ritual includes lying in bed with all the lights turned off, while blasting the loudest, angriest music he can find through his noise-cancelling headphones.

And usually, it works. But not today. He's got his eyes closed, listening to _Fooling Yourself_ at top volume, but his thoughts keep wandering to forbidden areas in his mind. The lyrics sound like something Castiel might say, and he can't stop imagining the other boy singing them to him. It's weirdly soothing.

But Dean isn't looking for another well-meant lecture about life, so he punches the skip button on his headphones and loses himself to the opening drumbeat of _Angry Heart_ instead.

He's got the music turned up to such an ear-splitting volume that he doesn't even hear Sam pounding on his door and bursting inside. It isn't until his little brother grabs his shoulders and shakes him that he opens his eyes with a strangled cry of shock.

"What the hell, Sam?" he yelps, yanking his headphones off his head and throwing them aside. He can still hear Glenn Hughes singing about love tearing him apart, but all of Dean's focus is now on Sam. His brother is standing by the side of his bed – wide-eyed and slightly out of breath – and all of his protective instincts are suddenly on red alert. "What's going on, Sammy? What's wrong?"

"It's Cas," Sam says. "The councilmen just arrived, and they're trying to get him outta the tree. He's seriously freaking out."

Dean tightens his jaw and lies back down. "Ain't my problem."

"Are you for real?"

"I'm not his keeper, Sam! He signed up for this shit, and now he's gotta deal with it."

"But I thought you two were –"

"Don't even go there," he growls, jabbing a warning finger into Sam's chest. "There's nothing going on between me and Cas, alright? It's never gonna happen, so just drop it."

Sam frowns. "Then why d'you keep sneaking out to spend time with him, huh? We've all seen you, Dean. You're not exactly subtle."

"I was just helping out an old friend."

"But, why?"

"Does it matter?"

"Uh, _yeah_. It kinda does."

Dean clenches his fists, then sighs. "I was tryna repay him, okay? I was a shitty friend to him, and he didn't deserve it. I guess I just wanted to stop feeling so fucking guilty all the time."

"So, that's the only reason you've been hanging out with him?"

"Yep."

"You're such a liar!"

"Oh, I'm sorry," Dean says, folding his arms aggressively. "I didn't realise you were inside my head."

Sam rolls his eyes. "It doesn't take a mind reader to know you're obsessed with the guy… 'Old friends' don't watch each other through windows and snuggle up in trees together."

"Snuggle? We didn't _snuggle_."

"Sure."

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"I saw you with my own eyes!"

"We were tied together."

"Ew."

"Not like that!" Dean flushes purple. "Cas tied us to the tree so we wouldn't fall out – which I almost _did_ , by the way."

Sam snickers. "You poor thing."

"Shaddup."

"Look, Dean. I'm just tryna help," Sam says, his voice soft. "You don't have to fess up or anything; I already _know_ you like Cas. And if you're worried about what people might say, _don't be_. As long as you're happy, who gives a crap what anyone else thinks?"

Dean picks at a loose thread on his pillow and shrugs. "What would _you_ think?" he asks. "I mean, hypothetically…"

"About you and Cas?" Sam beams. "I'd think it was really great."

"Yeah?"

"Well, _duh_."

Dean smiles for a moment, then shakes his head. "None of that he even matters," he mutters. "I don't care what people might think. I mean, I did at first, but not so much anymore."

"What's the problem then?"

"I dunno." He shrugs. "A thousand different things, I guess."

"Like?"

"You want 'em in bullet points, or…?"

"C'mon, Dean." Sam gives him one of his signature bitchfaces. "There's gotta be a _main_ reason, right?"

Dean purses his lips, reflecting back on his conversation with Castiel this morning. Did he make the right call by walking away? The more he thinks about it, the less sure of his decision he feels. He thought he was doing the right thing by cutting Castiel loose – by agreeing to give each other space for a while – but what if he made a mistake? What if that was his _one_ chance at happiness, and he blew it?

"We kissed," he blurts out, taking himself by surprise. "Twice, actually. Once almost four years ago, and again just yesterday… I pushed him away both times."

Sam doesn't even look surprised. "Why d'you push him away?" he asks.

"'cause I'm a fucking idiot," he grumbles. "I mean, I was a real dick about it the first time. I didn't think it was okay to kiss another boy, so I lashed out, called him all kinds of shit… That's when we stopped being friends – a couple weeks before High School started."

"And the second time?"

Dean shrugs. "I thought I was doing the right thing."

"What d'you mean?"

"Cas deserves someone better than me," he says, hugging his pillow close to his chest. "Someone with high self-esteem and zero baggage and a fuck-ton of knowledge about nature." He sighs. "I'll never be that guy."

Sam whacks him on the head. "Stop being an idiot, Dean! Cas doesn't want some imaginary hippy. He wants _you_."

"But what if I'm not good enough for him, Sam? What if I screw up and make him unhappy?"

"Why would you do that?"

"'cause that's what I do."

"That's bullshit," Sam says, and Dean doesn't even have a chance to be surprised by the curse before he adds, "You might think you're a bad person, Dean, but you're not. You made one crappy decision when you were fourteen, and you've spent the rest of your life feeling guilty about it. And now you're making an even _worse_ decision by trying to punish yourself! Can't you see you're going around in circles?"

Dean throws his hands in the air. "So, what? I'm just supposed to forgive myself and live happily ever after? How the fuck is that fair?"

"Does _Cas_ forgive you?"

"That's not –"

"Just answer the question, Dean."

"Okay," Dean says, lifting his hands in mock surrender. " _Yeah_ , he forgives me. I mean, that's what he told me, anyway…"

"So, _basically_ , you're beating yourself up over some stupid thing you did almost four years ago, even though the guy you did the stupid thing _to_ already forgives you?"

"Wow. It sounds super depressing when you put it like that."

"Probably because it is."

Dean shoots him a glare, then looks across the room. The curtains are drawn, but he can just about hear the distant commotion outside – the sound of raised voices and the shuffling feet of an anxious crowd. Castiel is putting up a fight, just like he knew he would, because that's the kind of person he is. Castiel Novak is _not_ a coward.

"I dunno what to do, Sam."

"Yeah, you do."

He flicks a glance at his brother, then looks back at the window. The sun is pushing against the curtains, begging to come through. His fingers twitch with the urge to open them, but his butt remains glued to the bed. He has no idea what to do. Is it a matter of choosing between the thing he _wants_ , and the thing that's _right_ , or are they the same thing? His thoughts are all scrambled, and his palms are starting to sweat…

But then he spots something below the window – a single, creamy-coloured feather resting on top of his desk - and just like that, the right choice becomes clear to him.

"I'm such an idiot," he says, then louder, "I'm such a fucking idiot!"

Sam grins. "I've been telling you this for years."

"I've gotta go talk to him."

"Well, c'mon then!"

"Right." Dean leaps from the bed and grabs his jacket off the floor. "Right. Okay. I can do this. I can do this. I can do this…"

Sam punches the air triumphantly. "Yeah!"

"I think I'm gonna puke."

"Ugh. Way to ruin the moment, Dean."

"I'm freaking out, man!"

"Calm down." Sam grabs his arm and ushers him out the door. "You like Cas. Cas likes you. All you've gotta to do is be there for him, and he'll forgive you. I _know_ he will."

Dean white-knuckles the bannister as they stumble down the stairs, his legs turning to jelly the closer they get to the back door. "I don't think it's gonna be that simple," he says. "Cas seemed pretty damn adamant this morning; he said he wants to get over me for good, and I don't blame him."

Sam scoffs. "You don't just _get over_ someone, Dean. There's still time to fix this."

"But what if he –"

"Stop overthinking it and get out there!"

Dean gulps. They're standing by the back door, and everything suddenly feels very _real_. Less than six hours ago, he agreed to give Castiel space – to finally let him go – and now he's about to confess his feelings and fight for the thing he loves in front of half the fucking town. When the hell did his life turn into a teenage soap opera?

"Are you okay?" Sam asks.

Dean swallows thickly. "Yeah, I… I think I'm ready to start being brave."

"You've got this, jerk."

"Thanks, bitch." Dean ruffles his brother's hair, then gives him a quivering smile. "Well. No time like the present, right?"

Sam sticks two thumbs up in the air and opens the door. The sound of the chattering crowd comes spilling inside, knocking Dean back a step. There are people all over the place – gathered around the tree, standing in the middle of the road, and even some scattered in their garden… He spots his parents near the front of the crowd, trying to reason with some pompous-looking dude in a suit. His mom is red in the face, and his dad has a hand on her shoulder, silently supporting her argument.

"Holy shit," Dean says. "I didn't think there'd be this many people…"

"Cas has had a real effect on the town, right?"

"Yeah." He wipes his palms on the back of his jeans. "I, um… I don't know if I should be proud or petrified."

"It's gonna be alright, Dean."

"Yeah, I know. Just nervous, I guess."

"You can do this."

"Okay." He breathes in his through his nose and nods. "Yeah, okay. I can do this."

Sam takes him by the elbow and leads him across the lawn. "Come on," he says, expertly snaking through the thickening crowd with Dean in tow. "I can hear sirens coming."

"They really called the cops?"

"It's the Chief Executive," Sam explains. "He's ruthless."

They push through the people standing in the road and wriggle their way through the disgruntled workmen circling the tree. Their mom spots them over the man in the suit's shoulder – Dick Roman, according to his badge – and waves them over.

"Oh, Dean. Thank God," his mom says, pulling him into a quick hug. "You need to talk to Castiel, sweetie. He's gonna get himself hurt if he doesn't calm down."

Dean looks up through the branches. Castiel has loosened the rope around his waist so he can turn and wrap his arms around the trunk, desperately clinging onto the tree. His body is shaking, and Dean can hear him sniffing softly. It looks like he's having a breakdown.

"What happened?" Dean turns on Dick Roman with a snarl. "What the fuck did you say to him?"

"I simply explained the situation," the man says, his lips lifting in a shark-like smile. "This childish behaviour isn't fooling anyone. We gave him plenty of notice, and now it's time for him to grow up and stop fighting an impossible battle. He's only going to embarrass himself."

"Can't you see he's freaking out?"

"That's not my problem."

"Jesus Christ," Dean mutters. "You're sick in the head. D'you have any idea how much this tree means to him?"

"Oh, please. It's an eyesore that's taking up far too much room. The roots are bursting through the soil, for crying out loud. If anything, it's a danger to the town. We're just trying to protect our people."

Dean scoffs. "You mean, this has nothing to do with the buttload of cash you're gonna make once you've stuck another shopin its place?"

"Well, that certainly _does_ sweeten the deal, but the safety of the town is still our main priority."

"Right. _Sure_."

"Can you talk your friend down from there or not? My wife's making a pot-roast tonight, so I'd rather not be late."

"You sonofabitch." Dean clenches his fists, his top lip curling. "This tree is almost 70ft tall; a fall like that could _kill_ him. D'you really wanna risk pushing him over the edge for a fucking _pot-roast_?"

"Stop being dramatic. The boy's tied to the tree."

"He's loosened the rope, you idiot!"

"Well, as long as he doesn't attempt a cartwheel, I'm sure he'll be fine."

"He's having a fucking panic attack," Dean cries. "And if you and your men don't back the hell off, it's only gonna get worse."

"The police are on their way, don't worry."

"Oh, yeah. Like _that's_ gonna help."

"Mom's right," Sam says, stepping in between them. "You're the only one who can calm him down, Dean. You need to talk to him."

"But, the tree… I can't just ask him to stop fighting."

"You don't have to."

"But, how –"

"Be there for him," Sam says. His eyebrows are raised, like he's trying to make a point. Dean feels like an idiot for not getting it. "If you really wanna convince him you care, then stand by his side. Fight for him by fighting _with_ him."

Dean looks back at the tree, his heart pounding in his ears. He's never seen Castiel so vulnerable before; he looks like a little kid clinging onto his parents' legs, begging them to stay. And in a way, it's kind of the same thing. For almost four years, this tree has been Castiel's only friend – his _sanctuary_ \- and now the council are trying to tear it away from him. Without the tree, he's all alone. _That's_ his mindset right now. He's terrified of being left on his own again.

"Sammy, you're a genius," he says, flicking a smirk over his shoulder. Dick Roman seems to sense what he's about to do, because he suddenly shoves past Sam and makes a grab for Dean's arm, but he's already scrambling up the tree before the man can stop him.

"You little brat!" Roman growls. "You won't be so cocky when the police get here!"

Dean hoists himself up onto the final branch, then flips Roman the bird, grinning at the look of stunned outrage on his face. But his smile instantly falls when he hears Castiel whimpering beside him.

"Hey," he says, slowly moving his ass up the branch. "Hey, Cas. It's me. It's Dean. I'm here for you, buddy."

When Castiel turns his head, Dean winces. His cheeks have been rubbed raw by the bark – bleeding and splintered and covered in dirt. There's a cut below his left eye, where he must have snagged it on a hanging branch, and his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen.

"Dean? What are you doing here?"

"I'm taking your advice," he says, giving him a lopsided smile. "I'm fighting for the thing I love."

"But, last night… a-and this morning… we _agreed_ –"

"That was a stupid agreement."

"You said you didn't want to be with me, Dean. You said you needed time to sort out your issues. I thought that's what you wanted."

Dean reaches out to touch him, but Castiel flinches away. It's hardly surprising; he wasn't expecting Castiel to trust him off the bat anyway, not after everything he's done.

"I thought I was doing the right thing," he says. "I know, I know… I'm an idiot, but that's the truth."

"What happened to not being good enough for me?"

Dean shrugs. "I guess I still feel that way… I mean, you're fucking amazing, Cas. Can you blame me for being intimidated?" He scratches the back of his head, picking out a stray leaf, then dares to move a little closer. Castiel's shoulders tense, but he doesn't move away this time. Dean takes that as a good sign. "But even if there _is_ a bunch of guys out there who 'deserve' you more than me, it doesn't matter… 'cause I know for a fact that _nobody_ will ever love you as much as I do, Cas. It just ain't possible."

Castiel shivers. "You don't love me, Dean."

"I do."

"No. You're just… you're only saying that to coax me down. After all this is over, you'll change your mind again. That's how this story _always_ ends."

"Maybe it doesn't have to."

"You can't just stow your insecurities and pretend they don't exist anymore! You're not ready for the world to know who you really are, Dean, and that's okay… But I'm not prepared to be your dirty secret. _Nor_ your emotional crutch."

"I don't want you to be _either_ of those things, Cas! I want you to be my _boyfriend_."

Castiel squeezes his eyes shut. "Why are you doing this now?"

"I guess I finally got sick of feeling sorry for myself. I know I've done some shitty things in the past, but I don't wanna let them define the rest of my life, you know? I wanna be happy again, like when we were kids." He looks down at his hands, sighing. "I don't think I've really been happy since we stopped being friends. And that's on me, I know, but… I just really wanna make things right again."

"What made you come to this realisation so suddenly?"

"My dork of a brother." Dean snorts. "For a thirteen-year-old, he's actually pretty fucking wise. He convinced me to get off my ass and fight for you."

"You mean, he knows about us?"

"Apparently for a while. My folks, too."

"Oh." Castiel swallows roughly, his fingers starting to twitch. They always do that when he's nervous. "So, your family… they're okay with you being…?"

"Bi," Dean clarifies. It feels unbelievably awesome to say that out loud. "I mean, we haven't had 'the talk' yet, but my dad more or less told me he was fine with it the other night, so… yeah. I guess I've been worrying over nothing."

"Your family is one thing, Dean, but the town –"

"I couldn't give a flying _fuck_ about what the town thinks," Dean says, laughing lightly. "I dunno why I ever did. It's not them I care about."

Castiel wipes his eyes with the back of his sleeve, leaving a smudge of dirt across his forehead. Dean bites back a smile. He never knew someone could look so adorable covered in mud.

"Do you really care about this tree?" Castiel asks in a hushed, broken kind of voice.

Dean sighs. "I'm not gonna lie to you, Cas; I'm nowhere near as bummed about this whole thing as you are. But I know how much this tree means to you, so I'm gonna fight with everything I have to keep it standing… If you're okay with that, I mean."

Before Castiel gets a chance to respond, two police cars come screeching to a halt in the middle of the road. The crowd gasps and makes way for the officers that follow – two men and a woman, each of them equally stern-faced and downright _scary_. Blue and red lights spill across the street, bouncing off the dappled leaves like some kind of glorified disco ball. It's over-the-top dramatic, but what else can you expect from a small town where nothing exciting ever happens?

"It's time," Castiel whimpers, plastering himself against the trunk. "They're going to win, Dean. Of _course_ they're going to win… They have the _police_ on their side. What was I thinking?"

"Hey, hey, hey." Dean reaches out to stroke his back. "They haven't won yet, Cas. We've still got plenty-a time to kick their asses."

"This is a _peaceful_ protest, remember?"

"I didn't mean literally."

"Oh. Okay."

"Just… don't freak out, alright? We're up pretty high, and that rope ain't exactly secure."

Castiel glances down at his waist, like he'd forgotten he was tied up in the first place. He looks dazed. _Confused_. With every sharp word from the officers below, his body seizes up a little bit more. Dean doesn't like seeing him this way. It's actually kind of worrying.

"Cas? Cas, are you still with me?"

"I-I'm still here."

"Okay. Good. Just try to ignore them, alright? Keep listening to my voice."

"I'm scared, Dean."

"They're not gonna arrest us, don't worry. That'd make 'em look too bad. They'll probably just give us a slap on the wrist or something."

"I'm not scared of the _police_ ," Castiel says. "I'm scared of _afterwards_ , when the tree is gone… What am I going to do then?"

"What d'you mean?"

"I told you what this tree means to me. It's not just a pretty view; it's an _escape_." He bangs his head against the trunk, slicing a fresh cut through the mud smeared across his forehead. "Once this is all over, I'll have nowhere to go. I'll be alone again…"

Dean tightens his jaw with a click. "That's bullshit. You're not alone anymore, Cas. You've got _me_."

"Do I, though? How can I be sure?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"That doesn't mean anything. These could simply be the actions of a guilty man."

"Look… I don't blame you for doubting me. But if this is you tryna push me away, then don't even bother. I ain't going anywhere."

Castiel looks at him with large, watery eyes. He suddenly seems so small and fragile. "I want to believe you more than anything," he says, his bottom lip trembling. "But I've put my faith in you before, and all got me was embarrassment and heartbreak… I don't think I have the strength to go through that again."

"You won't have to." Dean drags himself closer, until his chest is pressed against Castiel's back. He hooks his chin over the other boy's shoulder and winds his arms around the trunk, clasping their hands together. When Castiel's fingers reluctantly unfurl, Dean slips the feather into his hand. "You know I'm a stubborn sonofabitch," he whispers, "but you make me wanna be a better person, Cas... D'you realise how fucking _incredible_ that is?"

Castiel's throat ripples. "I'm proud of you, Dean. For taking control of your life. But I can't take the credit for that."

"Fair enough." Dean shrugs. "I'll call you my _inspiration_."

"Dean…"

"We can make this work, Cas. I _know_ we can."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because," Dean says, pressing his lips against the nape of Castiel's neck, "we love each other… I'd say that's a pretty great start to a relationship, wouldn't you?"

A shiver runs up Castiel's spine.

"I'm so fucking sick of running away from my feelings," Dean continues softly. "I just wanna be happy, you know? And when I'm with you, Cas, I'm just… I'm so damn happy." He grins, noting the hesitant smile that passes Castiel's lips. "Just gimme one last chance, man… One last chance to let me make you happy too."

For a few agitated seconds, all he can hear is Dick Roman spitting curses and stomping his feet. Castiel is quiet and still while he considers Dean's words. It feels like centuries pass before he finally breaks the silence and exhales shakily.

"Okay," Castiel says, giving Dean's hands a quick squeeze. "We still need to talk about this properly – preferably on lower ground – but okay."

Dean's heart stutters. "O-Okay?"

"We're finally both on the same page," Castiel says. "It makes no sense to keep pushing each other away… And, besides. We've got a tree to save. There's no room for excess drama."

Dean kisses the corner of Castiel's jaw and chuckles. "Damn right."

As if on cue, one of the male officers approaches the bottom of the tree and takes off his hat. "Excuse me, boys," he calls up to them. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to ask you to come down immediately. If you don't cooperate, we'll be forced to take action."

"You can't own nature!" Castiel exclaims. "The council has no right to cut down this tree!"

Roman scoffs. "We have permission from the planning authority, you little brat! This tree is a health and safety issue that needs to be eradicated immediately."

"Sir, calm down –"

"Don't tell me to calm down!" Roman hisses. He grabs a rock and flings it at the tree, slicing off a sizeable chunk of bark. The sudden assault makes Castiel flinch, and Dean instinctively tightens his arm around the other boy. "You see that? Your precious tree is falling apart!"

Dean practically roars. "Are you fucking insane? You could've hit one of us!"

The officer puts a hand on Roman's arm and takes him aside, mumbling something under his breath. Once they're out of sight, Dean carefully turns Castiel to face him and tightens the rope around his stomach.

"You almost fell," he says, gently petting Castiel's face. "Don't do that again, you hear me?"

Castiel huffs a laugh. "I'll try not to fall to my death."

"Yeah, you do that."

"You know they're going to win, don't you? Like Roman said, the council has permission to do what they like with this tree. There's really only one way this can possibly end."

Dean brushes a thumb over his cheek. "Yeah, I know. Still doesn't mean we can't put up a fight though, right?"

"Of course not. I just… I don't want you to worry about me, okay? I've been preparing myself for this moment ever since the council announced their decision months ago."

"You're allowed to be upset, Cas."

"I _am_ upset. But more than anything, I'm grateful." He takes Dean's hands and holds them against his chest, smiling with tears in his eyes. "This tree not only provided me with a friend when I had none, but it also led me back to _you_. If weren't for this whole situation, we'd still be living apart from each other. That has to count for something, doesn't it?"

Dean kisses their joined hands and grins. "You think the tree's been playing cupid this whole time?"

"In a way, yes."

"Awesome."

Castiel smiles fondly. "You really have changed…"

"You think?"

"I do."

"Does that mean you're ready to kick some council ass with me?"

"Only in the figurative sense."

Dean chuckles. "I'll take it."

"Are you sure you want to do this, Dean? I don't want you getting arrested because of me, not unless you're completely certain…"

"I'm ready." Dean presses their foreheads together, stealing a quick kiss when Castiel tries to protest. "You ain't alone anymore, okay? We're gonna fight this thing together. _You and me_. That sound good to you?"

Castiel licks his lips and smiles. "Yes."

"Good."

Once Dean has tied the rope around his waist, connecting himself to Castiel, they both turn to face the crowd and ready themselves for the long-anticipated fight. There's over a hundred faces staring up at them now, but Dean doesn't let it unsettle him. Instead, he feels a strange surge of pride knowing how much attention he and Castiel have managed to gain. They might not win today – they probably won't – but at least their actions will encourage people to stand up in the future.

"There's a lot of people," Castiel says, a little breathlessly.

Dean turns to him, his eyes softening. He looks really beautiful right now – more beautiful than usual. Maybe it's the passion burning inside of him, the flames of the fight taking shape in his eyes… Whatever it is, it's stunning.

"Hey," he whispers, bumping their thighs together. "Take my hand."

"What?"

"Take my hand, Cas."

Castiel snaps out of his daze. "Oh. Sorry."

"You good?"

"Yes. I think so." Castiel threads their fingers together. His shoulders instantly relax, and it makes Dean smile. He likes having a soothing effect on the other boy.

"It's gonna be alright."

"I know."

"It's you and me, remember?"

Castiel squeezes his hand and nods. "You and me."

And for the first time in his life, Dean isn't afraid of what comes next.


	10. Epilogue

**Ten Months Later**

"Dean, where are you taking me?"

"Just go with it."

"We've been walking for a while now… I'm starting to miss my eyes."

"You'll get 'em back in a sec."

"We're almost there?"

"Almost…"

Castiel sticks his arms out in front of him, slapping the air with a curious smile on his face. It makes Dean laugh. He readjusts his hands over his boyfriend's eyes and steers him to the right.

"Careful; it's a lil' muddy here."

"Are we in the forest?"

"Quit spoiling the fun, man!"

"I'm just making an educated guess," Castiel says, deliberately crunching a leaf beneath his shoe. "Fall came early this year, didn't it?"

"Yep. It's look pretty damn awesome out here."

"Aha! So we _are_ in the forest."

"I never said that."

"Everyone knows the forest in fall is the most beautiful sight known to man, second only to a sky full of stars."

Dean chuckles. "That ain't a fact, Cas. That's your opinion."

"Even so, there are very few places in this town that you would call 'awesome', so I stand my assumption."

"Are you done?"

"Yes." Castiel crinkles his brow. "But only if that means you're going to take your hands away."

"You're so impatient!"

"I'm _curious_. There's a difference."

Dean kisses Castiel's temple and grins. "Okay. You ready?"

"Absolutely."

"Alright. Here we go…"

When he takes his hands away, Castiel gasps. In the soil, right in front of them, is an oak tree sapling – tiny, yet flourishing. In the ten months it's been alive, it's barely grown twenty inches, but its leaves are bright and healthy, and Dean feels a warm rush of pride whenever he sees it.

"It's a tree," Castiel says in awe. "An _oak_ tree."

Dean squeezes his shoulders. "Yep. When the cops yanked us outta the tree last year, I snagged a few acorns… managed to get one growing. I've been looking after it for months."

"You did that for me?"

"Course I did," he murmurs softly, rubbing his nose against Castiel's cheek. "I know how much you loved that tree, Cas. And I know this ain't exactly the same thing, but it's _something_ , right?"

Castiel turns in his arms and smiles. "It's perfect, Dean."

"You like it?"

"Like doesn't even cut it… I don't even know what to say, I just… _Thank_ you."

"You're welcome," Dean says, hiding his blush in the crook of Castiel's neck. "I've been trekking out here every single day for almost a _year_ to water the fricking thing, so I'm glad you like it."

Castiel chuckles. "I suppose you're relieved to be finally passing the responsibility over to me?"

" _Actually_ … I was kinda thinking we could do this together. Like, look after it and stuff. It could be our own personal project."

"That sounds like a wonderful idea." Castiel drapes his arms over Dean's shoulders and kisses him sweetly. "You're quite charming when you want to be, aren't you?"

"I'm just getting started."

"What do you –"

"Turn around," Dean says, smirking.

Castiel narrows his eyes, then does what he's told. His mouth drops open when he sees the makeshift den of sticks and leaves standing just a few feet away from them. Inside, there's a blanket and two sleeping bags, as well as food and water. Hanging from the entrance, a wooden sign reads 'C&D' in crudely painted letters.

Dean clears his throat. "So, um… What d'you think?"

"Is this for us?"

"Yeah. I thought we could spend the night out here, keep an eye on the tree… I know it's kinda small, but it's pretty cosy inside. Oh! And I brought some stuff to keep us occupied." He reaches into his rucksack and pulls out an extra blanket wrapped around a bundle of random objects. Castiel chuckles at the familiar sight. "I figured you never a got a chance to master the Rubik's cube, so… now you've got an excuse."

Castiel folds his arms. "Are there toy soldiers in there?"

"Well, _duh_."

"Thank goodness."

Dean grins. "So, what d'you say?"

Castiel answers him with another kiss, then laughs. "When did you become so romantic?"

"I was born this way, baby."

"Sure…"

"Hey." Dean whacks him playfully on the arm. "Quit insulting me and get in there! I wanna try this bad boy out for real."

Once they're huddled together in the den, Dean wraps an arm around his boyfriend and closes his eyes. The air is so fresh out here; it makes his mind feel clear and open, like he can say anything without disturbing the peace around them.

So he does.

"I'm thinking about writing again."

Castiel smiles at him. "I think that's a great idea."

"Yeah. I've been meaning to tell you for a while, I just… I guess I was scared of making it real, you know?"

"I understand." Castiel takes his hand. "You know I'll support you no matter what, right?"

Dean kisses his cheek. "Yeah, I know."

"Do you have ideas for a story?"

"Nothing concrete." He looks over at the tiny sapling rising through the soil, and feels himself starting to smile. "But I think I'm gonna give it a happy ending."

Castiel leans his head on Dean's shoulder. "That sounds nice."

"Yeah... It does, doesn't it?"

 **THE END**


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